


Ghost Writer

by sodium_amytal



Category: Rush (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: AU. 1988. Ghostwriter Neil Peart is hired to pen the memoirs of a business mogul named Alex Lifeson. Alex is charming, funny, and sexy. And maybe a pathological liar. Good thing Neil has a finely-tuned bullshit detector and the patience of a saint. It doesn’t hurt that Alex is easy on the eyes, either.





	1. Chapter 1

"Nice haircut," Neil says.

Geddy scowls as Neil sits across from him at the table. When Geddy's irritated he scrunches up his face in a way that's impossible not to laugh at. So Neil does, because he's only human.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure your wife always wanted to be married to Davy Crockett."

Geddy continues to pout. "Are you done?"

"I'm just getting started."

They're sitting in a downtown café, watching the human traffic on the sidewalks of University Avenue. Geddy's already nursing his second cup of coffee, if the frantic bounce of his right leg underneath the table is any indication.

"Well, save your best zingers for later," Geddy says. "Or never. Nancy's already laughed at my haircut enough."

When the waitress comes by, Neil orders a lemon tea. He leans forward in his chair and says, "Alright, who is it this time?"

Geddy is an agent, representing mostly low-tier local celebrities for book deals, television appearances, and small movie roles. But he's essential to Neil's ghostwriting gig, introducing Neil to plenty of clients craving a tell-all.

"How much do you know about Alex Lifeson?"

Neil snickers. "The infomercial guy? Boy, you're scraping the bottom of the barrel here, Ged."

"He's more than just 'that infomercial guy.' He's Canada's answer to Ron Popeil. He doesn't just advertise stuff; he invents it."

Alex Lifeson is the goofy, possibly amphetamine-fueled pitchman behind a slew of kitchen and cooking innovations. His infomercials air mostly late at night, and Neil vaguely remembers having the flu one week and watching the ads while doped up on Nyquil.

"And," Geddy continues, "he owns his own company: LerxstCo. I think he'd be an interesting subject for your next book."

Neil's tea arrives, and he stirs it with no apparent hurry. Geddy's leg starts jackhammering again. "You should cut down on your caffeine intake," Neil says. "That stuff'll kill you."

Geddy rolls his eyes like he's being lectured by the school principal. "Talk to me when you've got a six-month old baby who cries all night and an eight-year-old who's still afraid of the dark and wants to sleep in your bed."

Neil feels like that's a jab at his bachelorhood, because he's thirty-five years old and still unattached. Like it's Neil's fault Geddy got married practically right out of high school. Neil has tried, of course, but his last relationship withered due to irreconcilable differences.

Neil sips his tea. "So Alex wants to do the book?"

"Yeah, he's onboard." Geddy studies Neil's expression, which has likely given away nothing. "Alex and I go way back. We went to school together. So, really, this is more of a favor for me than anything. All you have to do is meet with him once, and after that if you think there's nothing there, fine. But give him a shot. He's a great guy."

Neil cocks an eyebrow. "Sounds like you're setting me up on a date."

Geddy's impossibly tiny eyes go wide. "No, no, that's not—That would be unethical and greasy."

Neil's bicuriosity is a secret guarded as intensely as nuclear launch codes, except where Geddy is concerned. Despite being part of the sleaziest, most capitalistic entity on earth, Geddy is the kindest person Neil knows. He doesn't judge, especially when friends are involved, which led Neil to confess his darkest secret last year while under the influence of alcohol.

"You're an agent. Unethical and greasy are your specialties."

Geddy makes his pouty-scowly face.

"Sorry. I like winding you up," Neil admits with a smile.

"Well, maybe if you had someone else to wind up, you wouldn't have to rely on me."

"Still not convincing me this isn't a date."

Geddy putters a sigh through his lips. "It's not. But you might make a friend and land a client, and would that really be so bad?"

"All right, tell him I'll do it."

* * *

Neil meets Alex for dinner that night at a steakhouse in the heart of downtown. The restaurant is dimly-lit and smoky (from cigarettes and the grill), so it takes Neil a moment to realize the chubby-faced blond sitting alone near the back of the joint is Alex. Neil's familiarity with Alex's appearance might be affected by a woozy haze of cough syrup, but he distinctly remembers Alex looking thinner on TV.

Alex glances up from studying the menu as Neil approaches the table. His smile is extraordinary, a perfect combination of lips and teeth, and Neil's breath catches in his throat. "You must be Neil!" Alex greets him. "It's great to meet you. Geddy said a lot of nice things about you."

"And at least some of them are true."

Alex chuckles. Oh hell, Neil's endeared to him already. His blond hair hangs past his jawline, one side of his fringe swooping over an eye and requiring him to flip it out of his face every once in a while. He's already done it once since Neil sat down. He's wearing a white blazer over a white blouse that's almost see-through; Neil tries very hard not to find out for himself if it really is.

"How hungry are you?" Alex wonders. "'Cause I'm starved but I don't want you to judge me if I order a lot."

Neil shrugs. "Get what you want. I don't really care about food."

"I'm sorry, what?" Alex blinks. He sets the menu on the table and says, "I don't think I can do this. I can't open up to someone who doesn't care about food. I mean, what kind of—Oh, wait, no! Were you born without taste buds? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." He looks so sincere, like he genuinely believes Neil has no taste buds. Why not play along?

"It's alright," Neil says, waving off Alex's concern. "Don't worry about it."

They order their food; Alex opts for a huge steak with a baked potato, macaroni and cheese, and green beans, while Neil just sticks with a simple salad. Neil pours himself a glass of the wine sitting on the table.

"So you're a ghostwriter, huh?" Alex starts. "What's your favorite type of ghost to write for?"

It's a line Neil's heard at least a hundred times, but something about Alex makes it work, even when he grins at his own joke like a doofus. Neil hears himself chuckle, which makes Alex grin harder, like he's proud of himself for making Neil laugh.

"Living ones. They talk more."

"You'd think ghosts would have nothing to do but talk. But I guess that gets in the way of being spooky and hanging out with their ghost buddies. Wait, do ghosts have friends?"

Oh boy. Neil shakes his head, takes a swallow of wine. "We're not talking about ghosts. We're talking about you."

"Ghosts are way more interesting."

"Geddy tells me you started your own company, and that you invent everything you sell on TV. That's rather impressive for someone from Willowdale."

Alex's pouty face is a work of art. "Don't knock it. It's not as fancy as the big city, but it's home."

"I'm only joking. I'm from St. Catharines myself."

"Then you've got no business knocking the suburbs, farm boy."

Neil snickers. "So I suppose you were a bit of an outcast growing up?"

"Me? No way. Everybody loved me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I can't wait 'til my twenty-year reunion. It's gonna be a blast."

Neil doesn't have very fond memories of his school years, and hearing Alex brag about his own past makes him uneasy. "Well, let's go back a little further. What was your upbringing like?"

Alex swirls the wine in his glass. "You mean my parents? They were normal. Just your typical story of immigrants searching for the Promised Land."

"And if that's not Canada, I don't know what to tell you," Neil says with a chuckle.

Alex smirks, and Neil studies his mouth. For totally non-perverted reasons, of course.

"What angle do you want with this book, Alex? Are you looking to publish memoirs, or would you rather focus strictly on your business?"

"It's not really a fair exchange, don't you think?"

"Meaning what?"

"Well, I'm supposed to just open up and tell you everything about me, but I don't get to know anything about you." Alex leans forward, his elbows on the table, and props his chin up with his hand.

"What would you like to know?"

Alex taps a finger to his lips while he thinks. Neil inhales a slow breath. "How come you ghostwrite? Most people want all the credit for their work."

Neil shrugs. "I'm uncomfortable with adulation. Honestly, the worst part of being an author, for me, is the book tour. I get really embarrassed and uneasy when people recognize me. Ghostwriting puts the focus off me and onto whoever I'm writing about. Which, I think, is the point. The books aren't about me. I didn't make up anything. I'm just the observer who put words on paper in a way that's pleasing to the ear and eye."

"Would you ever want to write"—Alex seems to bite back the phrase 'a real book'—"something that shows off what _you_ can do?"

"I've wanted to write about my travels, but I've shied away from actually doing it because it feels very egotistical. Like I'm saying, 'look at everywhere I've been!' when I'm just trying to recreate in words the same feelings I had in these magnificent places."

"Where have you traveled?"

"I try to take a decent vacation once a year and go somewhere I've never been before. Last year I went to Africa. The year before, Japan. Then South America. Then it all gets sort of hazy." Neil chuckles, takes another sip. "I see airports as places of possibility, of new beginnings, but most people just see them as a hassle. You could buy a ticket and go anywhere in the world. That's fascinating and exciting to me."

Alex is about to say something, but the food arrives, and he makes a happy little noise that Neil finds adorable. As he cuts into his steak, Alex says, "I still can't believe you actually ordered a salad." His shapely upper lip curls in disgust. "It pains me to see you eat that."

"It pains me to see you eat _that_ ," Neil volleys back, because Alex clearly gives zero fucks about his cholesterol.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have ordered rabbit food." Alex flashes him a sassy smile and pops a bite of steak into his mouth. Unfortunately, it's still pretty hot, and Alex manages to say, "Oh God, it tastes like burning" before dropping the meaty chunk back onto the plate.

Neil laughs; Alex is so goofily charming it's impossible not to. "You don't burn your mouth on 'rabbit food,'" he teases, spearing a mini tomato with his fork.

Alex downs a gulp of wine. "Still worth it."

Neil realizes that Alex has masterfully sidetracked their conversation. "So now you know a little about me," he starts, trying to get them on course again. "I think a bit of reciprocation is in order."

"Fire away."

"When did you start coming up with inventions?"

"When I was a kid, I liked taking things apart to see how they worked. It wasn't always feasible to get new things, so I had to fix stuff when it broke. My father was a plumber, so I guess that colored how I approached the world. Rather than rely on other people to fix things or come up with solutions to a problem, I'd solve it myself. So I branched out and started creating the stuff we couldn't afford to buy. I'd go to junkyards and garage sales to find parts. Most of my early inventions were just to help my mom around the house." Alex tries the green beans, and apparently they're not the temperature of lava, because he doesn't spit them out. "What do you do for fun?"

So that's how it's going to be, a give-and-take between them? Fine. But Neil's only playing along because Alex is cute.

"I read a lot. I can't stand being ignorant about things. When I hear of a topic I don't know much about, I try to read all I can on it. So I read a lot more non-fiction these days. Particularly history and sociology and geography and the world around me. For more physical hobbies, I go cycling in the summer and fall, and skiing in the winter."

"You're Mr. Olympic, huh?"

"I find it worthwhile to train the body as well as the mind," Neil says while Alex stuffs his face. This might be construed as insensitive.

"Sometimes I play tennis with Geddy," Alex says, his mouth half-full, like he's trying to prove he doesn't sit around on the couch all day. "But we haven't seen each other much lately 'cause he had a baby."

"Yes, _he_ had a baby." Neil's just teasing him now. Hey, it's fun.

"Shut up. You know what I mean." Alex's mouth scrunches and pulls off to the side when he's embarrassed. He also seems to be blushing, which Neil files away for later. "Your turn."

"I'm sorry, no. You're gonna have to give me a bit more than one sentence."

Alex huffs like this is some great inconvenience. "Okay. Ask me something."

"How involved are you in LerxstCo?"

"Well, I'm the owner, and I oversee pretty much everything. Finances, distribution, all that good stuff."

"It's a pretty big company though, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, if you want something done right..." Alex chuckles and takes a drink.

This strikes Neil as odd, an inconsistency nibbling at his brain. Maybe it's something about Alex's tone.

"Did you anticipate the success of the Lerxst Grill at all?"

"No way. I never thought it'd get as popular as it is. It's sold over a million units. I can't even picture that, y'know? What does a million of anything even look like?"

"That's certainly a lot."

Alex takes a moment to eat. A prolonged silence settles between them, and Neil finds it comfortable. Alex doesn't seem to be in a hurry to spill his story—a little reluctant, actually. Maybe he's shy, though Alex's boisterous infomercial personality would prove otherwise. But Neil can certainly relate to any social anxiety or nervousness Alex might be feeling.

"What kind of music do you like?" Alex asks him after some time has passed.

"All kinds. Mostly rock, but I listen to all sorts of things to broaden my horizons. I grew up listening to older stuff, Sinatra-types with smooth vocals. I guess it's a 'grass is always greener' situation. I have a decent sense of rhythm, but I can't carry a tune for the life of me. Sometimes I sing 'Gentle On My Mind' to my cat as a punishment when he misbehaves."

Alex laughs an angel's laugh. "You have a cat? I kinda imagined you'd be a dog person 'cause you do all sorts of athletic stuff."

"Cats are more easy-going. Less demanding. As a writer, I can't imagine having to break away every thirty minutes to take a dog for a walk."

"I've always wanted a dog."

"What stopped you?"

Alex looks put on the spot, blinking his eyes. "I don't know."

"What kind of dog would you want?"

"I never really thought about it. I've always felt like I'd just know, y'know? That I'd walk into an animal shelter and just be drawn toward one dog in particular, like it was calling to me."

"That's how it was for me and Spats."

Alex's eyes widen, his irresistible mouth curled into a smirk. "Your cat's name is Spats?"

"Well, not originally. He was about a year old when I got him, and the shelter named him Mr. Jiggles, but I thought he ought to have something more dignified."

"Mr. Jiggles is an amazing name for a cat."

"If you're a five-year-old, maybe."

Alex makes a scowly-pouty face, but there's a hint of a smile at the edges, like he enjoys Neil's teasing.

"Your turn," Neil says. "Where do you see yourself in five years? What's next for Alex Lifeson?"

Alex laughs nervously. "Well, obviously I'm gonna be a quadrillionaire, right? Nowhere to go but up! What about you?"

Neil feels like Alex sidestepped the question, but fair's fair. "I would hope to have published a book about my travels by then."

"You should go for it!" Alex encourages through a mouthful of steak. "There's lots of people who don't get to travel very much—or at all—and they'd probably love to read about where you've been."

"Maybe I'll consider it a little more seriously than I have been..."

"That's the spirit! You gotta go for what you want or you'll never get it."

"I've always been a believer in the 'something will come up' school of thought," Neil says, before swerving the conversation back to Alex. "But what about you? Are you a go-getter, or are we fellow alumni?" Smooth.

"I've been told I'm too ambitious. But I'm starting to slow things down and be more of a 'something will come up' guy."

"Have you given any thought to your next invention yet?"

"You can't rush genius," Alex says with a smirk. "I hope something comes up, though, 'cause I'm getting kinda restless. It's been a while since I came out with that smoothie machine. And, y'know, the longer you're out of the public eye the easier it is to be forgotten."

Neil scratches his chin. "Is that why you're doing the book?"

"Yeah!" Alex says brightly. "I'm scared I'm not gonna be able to come up with something else, so the book'll be great to keep me afloat during my extended hiatus."

"I'll give you one for free: a fork that has a small circular blade on it, so you can cut pizza and eat it with the same utensil."

"Literally no one eats pizza with a fork."

"This is why you're the mastermind."

Alex chuckles, but the sound tapers off as his mouth sets into a melancholy line.

Rather than pose another question, Neil says, "I sent my parents one of your smoothie makers for Christmas last year."

"Really?" Alex's expression revives. His smile is bright like the sun, and Neil's already a little addicted to it.

"Yeah, my mother loves those Orange Julius drinks, but she and my father still live in a rural part of St. Catharines, so they don't have a Dairy Queen close by."

"That's really nice of you. You get along with your parents?"

"Oh, yeah. It would be presumptuous to say they have a favorite, but I certainly got a bit more attention than my sister while I was growing up."

"Were you a problem child?"

"In some ways. I entered high school when I was 12, so I got bullied a lot."

Alex looks crestfallen, opens his mouth to say something, but changes his mind. He settles on, "That sucks."

"I suppose, looking back, it built character."

"Did they support you becoming a writer?"

"Absolutely. My parents were always praising me for how smart they thought I was. So they didn't have any doubts I'd succeed when I started pursuing writing as a career field."

"That's really great. They sound like nice people."

There's a feeling here that Alex's family life might be a bit of a sore subject. Neil doesn't want to push, not on their first meeting, but he's a curious person by nature, and if Alex didn't want to talk about his life, why did he let his agent hire someone to write his memoirs?

"What about your folks? Did they support your foray into inventing?"

"My mother encouraged me. But my sister did everything right—graduated high school top of her class, went to a great college on a scholarship—so obviously I was gonna come up short no matter what."

"But certainly now, after all your success, your folks have changed their tune?"

Alex shrugs, shifting in his chair. "Maybe a little."

It seems Alex's upbringing wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Neil decides to back off the topic for now.

When the check comes, Alex graciously slips his credit card into the leather billfold before Neil even gets out his wallet. "Don't worry about it," Alex says. "Who's the millionaire around here?" He finishes off the wine, his cheeks delightfully rosy from the alcohol.

Neil surreptitiously checks Alex's hands for a wedding or engagement band. Nothing. Though his nails are a little longer than Neil would have thought. "Any plans to get married?"

"Hey, I've only known you one day," Alex laughs, and Neil is charmed. "Kidding, of course. No, I haven't found the right person yet. Or maybe I have and I blew it."

Neil finds it interesting that Alex said 'person' instead of 'woman.' Not that he's seriously considering a relationship here, no siree. Neil's male fantasies are strictly confined to sex. He's had many thoughts about engaging in sex with another man, but none involving a romantic relationship with one. He isn't sure what that says about him as a person, but it makes him feel awkward and pathetic and slightly homophobic.

"Well, you're a busy guy," Neil says, trying to be helpful. "It's hard to build a career and a relationship. And usually the type of people who gravitate toward the rich don't exactly have the best intentions."

"Yeah, that's—that's kinda why I've backed off from dating. I can't be sure who likes me for who I am or who's just after my money. Is it easier from where you're standing?"

Neil doesn't get the chance to answer that, because the waitress returns to the table and tells Alex, "I'm sorry, sweetie, but your credit card was declined. Do you have another one we could try?"

Alex's face loses a bit of color.

Neil swoops in to save the remaining shreds of Alex's dignity. "We can use mine," he says, handing over his card.

The waitress smiles at him and flits away.

"I'm so sorry," Alex apologizes, looking shamed. "I don't know why that happened. Maybe I used my card too much today and the bank shut it off thinking it got stolen. Or maybe that Nigerian prince was full of shit after all."

"Don't worry about it," Neil says. "I can write the whole thing off as a business expense anyway."

Afterwards, they're standing outside the restaurant in the chill of the night, watching the headlights cruise through downtown. Alex stuffs his hands into the pockets of his blazer and rocks on his heels.

"I'll have Geddy set up another time for us to meet," Neil says. "If it would make you more comfortable, we could talk at your place next time."

Alex blinks like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Outside of the harsh, golden light of the restaurant, Neil can see now that Alex's eyes are a vivid blue. "Oh. Well, only if you want to. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"It's more about you being comfortable."

"Okay, well, I'll talk to Geddy and we'll work something out." Alex smiles again, his cheeks rounding as his mirth reaches his eyes. "It was really nice talking to you." Neil can't tell if Alex's face is flushed from the cold, the wine, or if he's blushing. Maybe a combination of all three.

"You too."

* * *

Geddy calls the next morning while Neil's making breakfast. "How'd everything go with Alex?"

"Fine. He's a nice guy. Very charming. I can see why his infomercials took off."

"So I was right."

Neil sighs. "Yes, Ged, you were right." Growing up with a know-it-all brother resulted in Geddy constantly needing reassurance that he's valued and appreciated. Is there anyone whose family didn't screw them up at least a little bit?

"Do you have a minute?" Neil asks, preparing a simple rice and egg dish he discovered during his travels to Japan. "I thought I'd ask you some questions about Alex."

"Go ahead."

"How did you two become friends?"

"We had few classes together. I was a bit of an outcast, so I guess he gravitated toward that."

"Was he a bully at first?"

Neil can almost see Geddy's surprised expression over the phone. "No, he was always nice to me. And to everyone else. But we mostly kept to ourselves. We weren't really popular. I was big into music and art and poetry and other not-cool pursuits, and he fell into the science-nerd crowd because he was always building things."

So Alex lied about being popular. Not entirely surprising, but it makes Neil wonder what other white lies Alex may have told him.

"Did you ever hang out at his house after school?"

"No, um, we always went over to my place. We lived on the same street, and I guess my house was closer if you were coming from school. My mother thought he was a sweet kid 'cause he liked to help her cook."

Curious.

"How long were you friends?"

"We kinda drifted apart during grade 12. Alex dropped out of school and bounced around from one house to the next, staying with whatever girlfriend he had at the time or a friend who had extra room. I lost track of him until he got famous and came to my agency."

So Alex is an outcast high-school dropout who became a self-made millionaire. Why the hell did he keep that under wraps? Okay, maybe Neil shouldn't have mentioned that he entered high school at twelve years old, but Alex is the one sleeping on piles of money. It's not like Neil's intelligence puts him in a higher tax bracket than Alex, so why should it even matter?

"Alex never told me any of that..."

"I don't imagine he would," Geddy says. "Even when we were teenagers, he didn't talk much about himself. We mostly talked about movies or music or what was going on around us. I think he wanted to seem like he didn't have any problems, but I knew there were, y'know? Friendship with Alex feels like a one-way street. You won't learn anything about him beyond what to get him for his birthday. But if you've got a problem he'll listen 'til you're hoarse."

Neil can relate to that, in a way. He's not a big fan of talking about personal issues or burdening someone with his own troubles. Opening yourself up to another is so difficult it only seems worthwhile in close relationships. And sometimes even then...

Neil's reluctance to discuss his own troubles was one of the reasons Jackie ultimately broke things off with him. The "one-way street," as Geddy described, felt imbalanced to her, and perhaps unfair that she could spill out her daily grievances and annoyances and get nothing back aside from a kind ear and condolences. To the uninitiated, Neil's withdrawn personality can be misread as apathy or even depression.

"So you hired me to write a tell-all about a guy who's only gonna tell some?" Neil says.

"You've probably thought of this already, but it might be better to focus the book on Alex's business successes rather than a biography or memoir. Make it like a how-to for aspiring self-starters."

"Yeah," Neil trails off, because he remembers that Alex artfully dodged that question when he posed it.

Distantly, a baby cries on the other end of the phone. "Shit," Geddy whispers. "I have to go. I'll get you and Alex together again soon, okay?"

"Sure."


	2. Chapter 2

Neil meets Alex the next evening at the Toronto Ritz-Carlton, where Alex has a spacious, grandiose suite with a stunning view of the CN Tower right outside the window.

"Wow," Neil says, gazing at the neon glisten of the city beneath a sky the color of the ocean. The room itself is magnificent, with khaki-colored couches and chairs and taupe walls. On a marble-topped glass table there's a plant growing in a vase that's probably worth more than Neil's car. The lighting is dim and romantic. The TV is tuned to the Weather Network which provides a soft soundtrack of smooth jazz.

If Alex were wearing a robe Neil would think he's being seduced here.

"I've never been in a hotel this nice before," Neil says, shaking off that thought.

"Really? Not even when you travel?"

"No, I'm not made of money. And even if I were, I'd rather not spend it all on fancy hotels. Speaking of which... where do you live? Do you not live around here?"

"I have a house in Scarborough. But it's being fumigated, so I thought I'd treat myself to a luxury stay. You know they have a restaurant downstairs that'll blow your mind?"

"Fumigated..." Neil says, like he's hearing the word for the first time.

"Yeah, termites. The previous owner didn't disclose that particular tidbit of information when I bought the place, so imagine my surprise."

"With your money you could just buy a new house."

"What can I say? It's got sentimental value. It's the first piece of real estate I ever bought." Alex saunters over to the minibar. "You want a drink?"

Neil wants to say no but thinks better of it. "Just water."

Alex tosses him a bottle of Perrier before cracking open the vodka. Neil watches Alex expertly pour vodka, orange juice, and sparkling wine into a glass.

"You seem to know your way around alcohol."

"I used to tend bar. Lowering the drinking age was a godsend for me, 'cause I needed a job after I moved out." Alex takes his finished drink and sits on the couch. He props his feet up on the coffee table. He's wearing a gray blazer over a black t-shirt and baggy pants boasting a pattern that belongs on a Trapper Keeper. He's not wearing slippers—just plain white socks—but he ought to be.

"And you moved out after high school, right?" Neil hopes this might nudge Alex into talking about dropping out, but Alex just makes an affirmative noise and takes a swallow of his drink.

Stalling for time. Time to think of a diversion.

And he does. "What'd you do after high school?"

Neil inhales angrily but plays along. "I went to England."

Alex perks up. "Really?"

"It was naïve, but I thought being there would bring out some sort of talent that seemed innate in so many of the English authors I was reading at the time. I guess it's comparable to how a lot of influential rock bands got their start there. I stayed for a very unhappy, hungry eighteen months before going back home. Then I worked with my father at his farm-equipment dealership for a few years."

"What was England like?"

"Mostly dull and dreary," Neil chuckles. "But the whole experience was probably clouded by the fact I was struggling to make ends meet and barely knew anyone."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Alex stares into his glass, an unreadable expression on his face. "When I was tending bar, I didn't really have a home. I would stay with friends or whoever I was dating. And when they moved or got tired of me being there, I had to find someplace else to stay."

"But you were working, right? Couldn't you get your own apartment?"

Alex takes another drink, looks past Neil at the neon tower outside the window. "I have this thing about being alone..." His voice has a new timbre Neil hasn't heard before, and he realizes this is a rare moment of naked honesty for Alex. "I don't—I'm not good at it. When my sister and I were young, we shared a room, 'cause our house was small. Then we got older and I moved down to the basement. But she had a cat—this big, white fluffy thing. Her name was Snowball. The cat, not my sister."

Neil laughs. "Obviously."

"Snowball liked to follow me down to the basement and sleep with me on the sofa bed. She was more like a dog than a cat, I guess. They say cats can sense things..." Alex takes another drink. "After she died, it was a bad couple of months. I tried finding excuses to sleep over at Geddy's house every once in a while, but I was afraid his mom would think"—he rubs his arm, still not looking Neil in the eye—"things were happening that weren't. And then we might not be able to hang out at all. My father wouldn't let me fall asleep listening to records—he always complained about the electricity bill—so the last half of grade 12 was pretty bad."

Neil wonders if that has anything to do with why Alex moved out.

"Bad how?" Mr. Interrogation.

"It's hard for me to fall asleep by myself. I think about things. A lot of them aren't pleasant. And it's hard to snap out of that. Sometimes I get out of bed and walk around and tell myself to stop, and it works for a while, but then I get back into bed and fall down another rabbit hole. Lather, rinse, repeat."

They're treading thin ice here, and Neil doesn't know if one more step will send them crashing into the frigid waters below. But this is his job, and Alex must trust him a little to open up like this. "So you've never slept alone since you moved out of your parents' house?"

"No, I have. But I've learned to deal with it."

"How?"

Alex lifts his glass.

Oh. Well then.

"Booze makes me sleepy, and it's relatively cheap and easy to find. I used to just take cough syrup, but after a while it looked like I was making meth, so I switched to alcohol. Must be genetic..."

Holy shit.

Alex mumbled that last part, but Neil heard him loud and clear, and it opens a floodgate of horrible realizations. Neil wants so badly to poke at that, but he's certain the walls will go right back up if he does.

He glances at the bottle of vodka on the table. It's a little over halfway empty. Apprehensive, Neil rises from his seat and heads for the minibar. "Can I?"

"Knock yourself out."

Neil opens the door to the minibar and peers inside. The stock is suspiciously low. Either Alex has been in this room a while, or he's had enough alcohol in one day to kill a horse. "So how long is this whole fumigation thing going on?" Neil says, nudging soda cans aside in an effort to look purposeful.

"Oh, it just started today. Should only last a couple more days."

Could Alex really have drank this much in one day? Either he's lying about how long he's been here, or he's been pumped full enough of alcohol that anything he says here would be unethical to use in the book. Who's to say he won't sober up and be furious that Neil intends to publish these deeply personal secrets?

Neil shuts the door and shakes his head. He sits back in his chair, intent on catching Alex in a lie. "Well, tell me about Geddy. You two seem pretty close. Did you stay in touch after high school?"

Alex swallows the rest of his drink until the ice clinks against his teeth. "Yeah, off and on. I'd send him letters every once in a while."

Bingo.

"Really? Because Geddy told me he didn't hear from you until you came into his office looking for an agent."

Alex's casual half-smirk falters.

"He also told me you never graduated high school. Why would you hide that? The point of this book is to showcase success in the face of insurmountable odds. Think of all the people who would be inspired to know you became a success while being a dropout. 'If he can make it, so can I.'"

"I don't think we should be encouraging people to drop out of school," Alex says, avoiding eye contact. His voice is different now, an edge of nervousness to it now that his lies have been addressed.

"You're missing my point. You've already lied to me about these things. Who knows what other bullshit you've told me. If you want this book, you're gonna have to tell me the truth. All of it. Or I walk."

"Are you firing me? You can't do that. That's my job."

"And my job is to give an accurate portrayal of a subject's life, which I can't do when that person constantly lies to me and hides things. I'm not going to judge you over anything you tell me. You're a millionaire, and I'm a nobody. Why would you give a shit what I think?"

"You're not a nobody," Alex says, sounding hurt.

"Okay, look, if I ask something that you don't wanna answer, just tell me. Don't lie. If you tell me to back off, I'll respect that, and we can revisit that subject later or not at all. But I'm not going to tread on my integrity by publishing a book of lies."

Alex is quiet for a moment, contemplative, then he nods. "Okay. Fine. We'll do it your way." He sets his glass on the table. "You're not gonna make me look like an asshole, are you?"

"That depends. Are you an asshole?"

That seems to puncture something inside of Alex, because his expression shifts into regret and panic.

"I'll go first and tell you something I've never told anyone," Neil starts. "When I was a kid, I almost drowned. I was swimming out across a lake, and I tried to stop for a rest on a dock. But there were some bullies there, and they wouldn't let me hold on. I was tired and exhausted. Two of my friends helped me to shore, but there was a short period where I sank under the water and didn't know if I had the strength to come back up."

"You never told your parents you nearly died?"

"I was embarrassed," Neil says, like that explains everything.

"So why did you tell me?"

"Because it was over twenty years ago, and I don't want this to be a one-way street between us."

Alex appears to be thinking this over. He picks up his empty glass and heads for the minibar. While he pours he says, "My father drank a lot. He was a mood-shifter, so you never knew what would set him off. You were always walking on eggshells around him, and he had his nice, normal moments, so you couldn't just write him off as a drunk asshole who was always angry. Because he wasn't. Everything was okay until I was about ten, then he changed. He started yelling more. We were all afraid of him."

Alex takes his newly-refilled glass over to the couch. "My mother said it was 'cause things were tough at work," he continues. "He owned a plumbing business. Another self-starter." Alex gives Neil a wry smirk. "He never beat us. At least, not that I know about. One time he came close, but..." He shakes his head, unwilling to go there. Neil doesn't push. "He would take his anger out on things. On walls. I would try to fix the stuff he broke. My mother would cover up the cracks and dents in the walls with pictures. When they argued, I would hide in my room or the basement and try to drown them out with my record player."

Neil has no idea what to say. 'I'm sorry' feels like an understatement, a verbal tic exchanged for an 'it's okay,' which turns the comfortee into the comforter.

But just sitting here without saying anything feels wrong.

"Alex..."

"Oh, don't feel sorry for me. I'm a millionaire, remember? That evens it out."

"Still, no one deserves to go through that."

"Looking back, I think it built character," Alex says with an edge of sarcasm. He takes a long drink and puts his feet on the table again.

"Why don't we move away from your upbringing and focus on your inventions?" Neil suggests.

"Sure, but that's not where the juicy stuff is. Just your typical 'I saw a need and filled it' stories."

Those were some oddly sexual sentences. Neil fidgets in his chair. "Well, where do you get your ideas?"

Alex cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his lips tipping into a smirk Neil wants to kiss off his mouth. "You're a creative guy, right? You know ideas aren't that complicated. They're just a bunch of smaller ideas laid on top of each other like brickwork. There's nothing special about them. I came up with all my inventions 'cause I wanted to see if I could. Or I wanted to tweak an appliance I already had. Like the Lerxst Grill. I'm kinda lazy, so I hate dragging out the charcoal grill and doing all that work just to cook a hamburger. So I tinkered around and tried to make something smaller you could use in your kitchen. It's not perfect, but what is?

"The smoothie maker was made 'cause I wanted to make myself an Orange Julius late at night when Dairy Queen is closed. And I came up with the Omelette Express 'cause making omelettes on the stove is a pain."

"You seem to be motivated by laziness," Neil observes.

"If necessity is the mother of invention, then laziness is the father. And everyone loves time-saving gadgets. It's a win-win."

It doesn't seem like Alex has much to say about his inventions, which is a bit of a disappointment, because Neil was hoping to frame the book around them. Maybe this will be more of a memoir after all. Success in the face of adversity.

"What about LerxstCo? I saw in the paper that stock in your company is down ten percent."

"Well, that's just nervous investors. I haven't come up with anything in a while, so people pull out." Again with the sexual imagery. Or maybe Neil's just imagining it. "Once I invent the next big thing, everything'll go back to status quo."

"Any ideas on that next big thing?"

"I told you last night I got nothin'. And I haven't for a while. What if I never do?"

"You know, near the end of his life, Hemingway struggled with the inability to put words on a page. Perhaps he felt if he couldn't write life wasn't worth living."

"Was that s'posed to make me feel better?"

"You're probably just stressed out over coming up with a great idea, which, sadly, makes it more difficult to come up with something. You'll never reach your creative peak when you feel pressured."

"Still not comforting."

Neil wipes his palms on his jeans. "Why don't we call it a night, and we'll do something fun tomorrow? We don't have to talk about the book or what to put in it. We can just talk like regular people."

This sounds an awful lot like Neil is asking Alex on a date. He hopes Alex doesn't hear it that way. Unless Alex is attracted to him. Then it's absolutely a date that will hopefully end with Alex writhing underneath him.

Alex's mouth does a pouty, contemplative thing. "Okay, I guess I could use a day of taking it easy. But if your idea of fun is a rousing game of Monopoly, I'm calling the whole thing off."

Neil laughs under his breath. "Don't worry, I'll think of something a little more exciting." He feels a bite of apprehension at leaving Alex here alone, but what's he supposed to do? Stay the night? He has writing to do, a cat to feed. Alex will be fine.

* * *

Neil shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the rack as he comes through the front door of his apartment. He immediately heads to the refrigerator for a cold beer and puts a can of clam chowder on the stovetop. The noise in the kitchen draws out Spats, who scampers from the bedroom and weaves between Neil's legs until Neil feeds him.

The apartment is a small one-bedroom with hardwood floors and loud, rattling pipes. The walls are mostly bare, save for a Chinese fan and a few paintings of wintery cabins. Artifacts from Neil's travels serve as décor: a small bronze camel statue from Morocco, African sculptures, painted vases from China and Japan. There is a leather chair by the window where Neil will sit and read with a cup of tea. Next to the chair is a small end table with two books on top: a bird-watching guide and Jack London's _The Sea Wolf_.

When his soup is ready, Neil sits at the typewriter and plucks out the beginnings of what will be Alex's memoir. Computer keyboards are usurping the typewriter in popularity, but Neil still prefers the reliable click-clack of steel keys beneath his fingers. Maybe he's old-fashioned.

He had been so excited to move to Toronto, to live within spitting distance of restaurants and entertainment and supermarkets. But the constant noise of the city has begun to wear on him. The distant roar of airplanes flying overhead. The indistinguishable chatter of passerbys on the streets. Car horns blaring in traffic.

It makes him yearn for the solace of the countryside, or at least the dull hum of the suburbs. His future plan, cliché as it may be for a writer, is to retire to a solitary cabin in the woods, maybe someplace snowy and rural like Quebec where he could ski in his backyard. No distractions. Just a gentle fire crackling in the fireplace and someone to share it with. Yes, that would be nice.

He thought Jackie would be that person. She had an eight-year-old daughter named Selena from a previous marriage who seemed to like him as long as he took her out for ice cream and helped her with her math homework. Jackie had been a nurse at Toronto General Hospital, and Neil still avoids the coffee and sandwich shops on Walton Street she would frequent, more out of a gnawing worry he might run into her there and not know what to say.

But his problems with Jackie stemmed primarily from his lackluster sex drive, at least where she was concerned. So it seems horrendously unfair that, as he's punching onto paper his first encounter with Alex, he's also imagining the curl of Alex's perfect mouth in mid-orgasm, and Neil hates himself for it.

It's not like he's uncomfortable with his sexuality. He just wishes it were distributed more evenly. Because as it stands now, it seems like he wants all the perks of being with another man (sex, physical release, clandestine thrills) but none of the ugly parts (societal prejudice, lack of sanctioned marriages, inability to adopt children). But it's not like he's getting laid when he's with a woman, because he just isn't wired to want that, and goddamn it, he didn't ask to be born like this.

Frustrated and his concentration broken, Neil slips into the shower and decompresses under the hot spray. He's already hard, and it's not going away, so he might as well shamefully jerk off. His fist moves in lethargic strokes, but thinking about Alex naked and eager has him breaking apart and groaning into the slick tile.

When he settles into bed an hour later, he dozes to the distant bustle outside his sixth-floor bedroom window. Spats is curled up at his feet, but Neil finds himself wishing for a more human companion to share his bed. He doesn't mind being alone; he just hates being lonely.


	3. Chapter 3

Neil shows up at Alex's hotel room the next evening with a small bag of weed in his jeans' pocket. Alex lets him inside, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He looks like he would be a great cuddler. That is, if Neil were attracted to men in that way. But he's not, so—

"Thank God," Alex says with a sigh of relief. "You didn't bring any board games." He moves for the minibar.

"No, I brought something you might find a bit more stimulating." Oh hell, now Neil's doing the awkward phrasing, too. He drops the rolling papers and baggie of pot onto the coffee table to distract Alex from the innuendo in that sentence.

"Holy shit," Alex laughs. "I'm impressed! Maybe you're not such a stick in the mud after all! Where'd you even get this?"

"Is it really that surprising?"

"Well, yeah, you seem like kind of a dork," Alex says, dropping onto the couch and starting to craft himself a joint. "I mean, on a good day you dress like someone's dad."

Neil's almost afraid to hear the rest of this. Damn his curiosity. "And on a bad day?"

"You dress like a college professor."

"And you dress like an extra on the set of Miami Vice."

Alex gasps, feigning offense. "An extra? C'mon, I think I at least rank as an out-of-work Don Johnson."

This conversation is veering dangerously into 'catty' territory. Neil decides to be the bigger man and forgo a retort. Instead, he sits a comfortable, friendly distance from Alex on the couch and joins him in rolling a joint.

Alex seems to be an expert here, or at least more experienced than Neil, because his joint is tight and perfectly rolled, whereas Neil's looks like a melted slug. Alex notices this and snickers at him. "Here, grandpa, let me show you how to do it," he teases, plucking the cigarette from Neil's fingers and repacking it.

"'Grandpa'? I _cannot_ be that much older than you."

"I'm thirty-four," Alex says, flipping the hair out of his face as his fingers work.

"Thirty-five."

"So you're almost forty and still not married? Are you divorced?"

"Hey, we're in the same boat."

"Yeah, but I'm a rich eccentric. I'm allowed to be a bachelor forever. What's your excuse?"

Neil lifts an eyebrow. "I didn't know I needed an excuse. Maybe I'm just a big dweeb who dresses like somebody's dad."

Alex laughs, and the sound of it makes Neil's heart do a weird trippy thing. Is he having a heart attack? Is that what this is?

"Here," Alex says, handing back the newly-wrapped joint. "Now it doesn't look like a total novice rolled this. C'mon, you lived through the '70s. Didn't you smoke pot?"

Neil accepts and lights up with a match from the hotel matchbook. "Not as often as you, apparently. You could teach a class on this stuff."

"You're the one who dresses for the part, Professor."

Neil smirks, takes a long drag that fills his lungs. The weed is stronger than he's used to—or maybe it really has been that long since his last dance with Mary-Jane, to quote Tom Petty—and it tickles his throat and makes him cough.

"Novice," Alex says with a grin. He strikes a match to life and shows Neil how it's done. He sucks in a puff so hard the paper crinkles; Neil really shouldn't be aroused by that.

"No one likes a showoff," Neil grumbles. He settles back against the couch, lets the cloying smoke fill his nose. He tries to remember the last time he smoked with someone but comes up short. It must have been ages ago.

Alex exhales a long trail of smoke, sucks on the blunt again like a scuba diver on an air hose. "This was an awesome idea," he says, his voice a little raspier as smoke pours from his lips. "I didn't know you had it in you, Pratt."

The nickname takes Neil by surprise. "'Pratt'?"

Alex nudges him with an elbow. "You've been to England. You know what I mean."

"So you think I'm a right old tosser then?" Neil jokes, affecting a terrible British accent, but it makes Alex laugh and laugh, and, oh God, is he high _already_?

"I'm just teasing you," Alex says when his giggles subside. "'S'what I do with my friends."

"So I'm your friend now?"

"You know more about me than"—Alex pauses, like he's trying to think of something—"than anyone, really."

"Even Geddy?"

"Geddy never asked to write a book about me." Alex smirks and takes another long drag.

"If he had, you would've told him everything?"

"Not without a fight. He's my best friend. We go way back. Losing him would hurt way more than losing somebody I've only known a couple days. No offense."

"None taken." Neil takes another hit. His eyes burn. His lungs feeling like they're being scraped with a shovel. This is some strong shit. Much more sophisticated than the dusty brown ragweed he smoked in the '70s. "Why do you think you'd lose him? Because of your family history?"

Alex shakes his head, his sandy hair swaying. "My secrets have secrets. What I've told you isn't even half of it."

It seems there are still pieces in the puzzle of Alex's life that he hasn't revealed yet, if he thinks doing so might endanger his friendship with Geddy. Neil wonders what those pieces might be.

"Did you kill someone?" Neil guesses. "It could've been an accident. Drunk driving or—"

Alex cuts him off. "No, no, we're not playing the guessing game. This stuff takes time."

"The weed?"

"The whole 'baring your soul' thing we're doing. You'll get your juicy scandal stories, but you gotta be patient."

Fair enough.

They sit slumped on the couch watching the weather channel for forty minutes, hypnotized by the soft jazz music and the crawl of colors on the map. Neither of them speak, just smoking their joints down to ashy stubs, and Neil thinks Alex might have fallen asleep until he suddenly says, "Dude, I'm starving."

Neil finds he's starving too. "I know a place nearby that has great sandwiches."

"I thought you didn't care about food."

"Well, you do."

Alex smiles and looks at him in a way that makes Neil's heart shrivel in his chest, like it's being squeezed.

Neil glances away, chagrined. "Get your shoes. And a coat. It's a little chilly."

There's a slight breeze when they get outside. Alex wears a long, dark peacoat, his white Reeboks sticking out of the bottom. He is oddly beautiful under the streetlamps, and Neil is filled with emotions he doesn't have names for.

They round the corner of the hotel, past business and shop windows lit up from within. "Where's your car?" Alex asks.

"Are you kidding? We're not driving while we're baked."

Alex groans like he's dying. "Ugh, c'mon, don't be a wang. I'm too high to walk."

"Nonsense. You'll be fine. It's not that far."

"Nonsense? I was kind of hoping you'd say something old-fashioned like 'poppycock.'"

"Damn it," Neil snickers, and Alex laughs too, and they're both laughing idiots in the middle of the city at night.

The deli is a block away and across the street. When they get there, Alex pats his coat pockets. "Oh crap. I don't have any money on me."

"Don't worry about it. It's a sandwich, not a Mercedes."

"This would be the second time you've paid for my food," Alex says, looking shamed.

"Just give me something to work with for the book and I'll call it even."

The shop is warm and toasty inside. They sit at a table near the window and watch the night. Alex scarfs down a reuben like he hasn't eaten all day, though the joint he smoked might have something to do with his ravenous appetite.

"Scarborough's a bit of a drive from here," Neil says, trying to get Alex talking about something book-worthy.

"Oh. Well, I can hang around the hotel a little longer if it's more convenient for you."

"Actually, I was curious what your house looks like. But if you'd rather not have me there, I understand."

Alex sips his soda; it's a toss-up whether this is a stalling tactic or if he's just really thirsty. "It's not that. I just..."

"Don't worry about it. I don't want to be an imposition. I can barely remember the last person I let into my apartment." Neil does remember—it was Jackie—but he doesn't want to talk about her just yet.

"Oh, big surprise Mr. Professor doesn't have much of a social life," Alex jokes.

"You don't know that. I could go to parties every night. I just don't bring anyone home."

"Bullshit. You're, like, the Picasso of loneliness."

Neil hears himself laugh; he must be high. "You're awfully presumptuous about what I do in my spare time."

"It takes one to know one."

Neil wouldn't have considered Alex as a lonely person, but from a certain standpoint it does make sense. Fame can be isolating. "You're lonely, too?"

"We're both misfits. You've admitted as much. And me, well, I guess you figured out I wasn't exactly the prom king." Alex sighs. "It sucks. 'Cause even now I don't really fit in anywhere. I don't fit in with the inventors, 'cause they're all super brainy and don't get my dumb jokes. Famous people are kind of egotistical and shallow and take themselves too seriously. And average people get star-struck and weird, or they're intimidated. The only person I ever really clicked with was Geddy. But that's not how it's supposed to be, is it? Just going through life with one single friend?"

Neil considers this over a swallow of iced tea. "Rejection from society is what created the X-Men. I mean, if you're looking for a silver lining."

Alex laughs a bright sound that tapers off as a gloomy expression settles on his face. "I just want someone to be with me. But how am I s'posed to find that when I've only made one close friend in the whole time I've been alive? And I haven't even told Geddy everything."

"I think Geddy expects too much. There's nothing wrong with keeping things to yourself. I'm not really a talkative guy in my day-to-day life. I'm more of a listener. I would rather be a fly on the wall than the center of attention."

"That's just what losers say to cover up that they don't get invited to parties," Alex says with a teasing smile.

"I brought you weed," Neil says, lowering his voice. "How am I a loser?"

"How many friends do you have, Neil?"

The question—and perhaps hearing Alex say his name—takes Neil off-guard. "Are you gonna use my answer to prove your theory that I'm a loser?"

"No, I'm just curious."

Neil deliberates this through a bite of his sandwich and comes to a depressing realization. He might only have two close friends: Geddy and Alex.

"I think it's just you and Geddy. It used to be three, but she broke up with me."

"You told your girlfriend your deepest, darkest secrets?"

"Some of them."

Alex makes a face like he's disappointed in Neil. "No, never do that. No one I date knows anything that personal about me. It's horrible to have someone out there who knows what you look like when you're asleep or what kind of sex you like or your secret dream about being a rock star. And you're not even a part of their life anymore, but they're walking around knowing all those things about you, and you'd just wish you could take it all back."

Neil bites back a snappy 'maybe that's why you're alone', because he might have sassy thoughts, but he doesn't say them out loud. Not all of them, at least. "You always take a risk when you open up to someone. But that's kind of how you have to do it." Neil pauses. "I think you're afraid of intimacy. You're uncomfortable with closeness. That's why you've been high or drunk when you've told me anything meaningful about yourself."

Alex laughs, his voice wobbling nervously. "What? No, that's stupid. Are _you_ uncomfortable with intimacy? Is that why you keep things to yourself?"

"I'm open to that possibility. But I just prefer not to bother people with the trivialities of my personal life."

"Alright. Tell me why your girlfriend broke up with you."

Neil figures this is part of their secret-bartering system, so he doesn't argue with Alex's demand. He is, however, going to omit some of the more personal details. "She didn't like that I wasn't the type of person to talk about all the inane details of my day or my life. We stayed together a while because I'd ask her about her day, what's going on in her life, and her daughter didn't totally hate me like most kids in her situation would. But after a while I guess she felt like she barely knew anything about me. Plus there were... other problems we aren't close enough yet for me to talk about."

"Aw, c'mon," Alex groans. "No fair."

"I think it's perfectly fair."

"Okay, fine." Alex chugs down a gulp of root beer, as though he's forgotten there isn't actually alcohol in it. "Maybe I am afraid of intimacy. Because I'm kind of a shitty person and once people see that they'll leave me. But you're just writing a book about me, and you're gonna leave eventually, so I guess that takes the pressure off and I feel okay telling you stuff."

"But it doesn't worry you that people will read the book and see all those secrets you've been hiding?"

Alex shrugs. "I don't really have a choice."

"There's always a choice. If Geddy's being a wang about it, I can set him straight."

Alex half-smiles at Neil's word choice, and the next sentence out of his mouth stuns Neil. "I don't have a choice because I'm broke."

The world around Neil detonates as though Alex dropped a grenade on the table.

"My house isn't being fumigated," Alex continues. "I sold it to pay off some debts. I'm not even paying for the fucking hotel. I'm just friends with the guy who runs the place, and he owes me a solid."

"And the company?"

"I'm selling that, too. No choice. The drop in stocks is from insiders who must've figured out what's going on."

Neil is certain this is the first time Alex has ever said this out loud. But it all makes sense now: Alex's avoidance talking about his business, his declined credit card, still insisting on doing the book despite the task of getting straight answers out of him tantamount to pulling teeth, Alex holing up in a hotel, even 'forgetting' his wallet.

"Maybe you can start over," Neil says.

Alex shakes his head. "No, I'm done. It's all over. The book is kinda my last hope."

A realization clicks in Neil's brain. "Geddy doesn't know."

"Nope. He thinks this is just a way to keep myself relevant while I'm coming up with my next invention."

Another horrible epiphany dawns on Neil. "So how have you been eating?"

"I was getting one room-service meal a day, but then I felt bad about it so I just eat the peanuts out of the minibar."

Jesus.

"I don't mean to sound callous, but where did all the money go?"

"My family didn't have a lot of money, and neither did I when I moved out. So I got used to everything getting sapped away by bills and rent. So when extra money fell into my lap, there was this weird impulse to spend it immediately before it got sucked away too. Instead of saving it I'd go out and buy all the things I'd been meaning to get, like a new TV or an Atari or a Corvette. Plus, with all that money I was able to help out friends and family if they needed car repairs or something. By the time I learned how not to spend money in a blind panic, I didn't have enough to pay my staff or all the bills I had. So I sold the house and the Corvette. Now my credit sucks, so there's no way I'm getting a loan for a house. Even finding an apartment is a long shot." Alex bites into his sandwich like it's offended him and says, "Anyway, your turn."

Neil doesn't answer immediately, just guides the conversation in another direction while they finish eating. Once they're back inside the cozy warmth of the hotel room, Alex rolls another joint while Neil spills a secret.

"My girlfriend broke up with me because I'm not sexually attracted to women," Neil starts. "At least I don't think I am."

"Oh boy, this is gonna be good," Alex chuckles to himself.

Neil ignores the comment, because he can sense Alex doesn't mean it maliciously. Alex is just teasing him, trying to rile him up. But why? "When I see a woman I'm interested in—I don't want to say 'attracted to' because there isn't a sexual attraction—I imagine myself married to her, raising children, all that traditional, saccharine stuff you see in commercials for life insurance or greeting cards. I don't think about having sex with her."

"Women must love you."

"Except they don't. Because the lack of sexual interest makes them feel unattractive."

"Are you sure it's not just an equipment problem?"

Neil remembers how easily he came thinking about Alex, and he shudders. "Pretty sure."

"So maybe you're just gay," Alex says, taking a long drag off the newly-wrapped joint, like he's not even bothered by the possibility.

"I don't think so."

Alex chortles, smoke billowing out of his nose and mouth. "What do you mean you don't think so? Either you wanna bang guys or you don't."

Neil shifts on the couch, uncomfortable talking about his sex life, but Alex doesn't seem to be put off by it. "Well, when I think about"—he makes an awkward, unreadable gesture with his hands—"being with a male partner it only involves sex. I don't feel that romantic connection like I do with women."

"We're not just slabs of meat, y'know. We have feelings," Alex jokes with a lopsided grin. He takes another hit. "Don't worry about it; I don't. Not anymore. There's no rule that says you have to figure this stuff out."

Neil picks up on that clever clue. "Anymore? You mean you..."

"Yep, I had my very own textbook sexuality crisis. The classic 'gay crush on straight best friend.'"

"Geddy?"

Alex makes an affirmative noise around the joint. "I never told him. But his mom must have figured it out, 'cause he mentioned it to me like he'd heard it from her. I panicked and denied it, but that's when I started pulling away from him. I didn't wanna lose him as a friend, and if his mom found out she might tell my parents."

"Do you still..."

"No, he's straight."

"I can't imagine that would be much of a hindrance."

"He's also married."

"It's the hair, isn't it?"

"God, what was he thinking?"

Neil laughs, then Alex starts in too. Maybe it's the pot, but at least Neil can amuse Alex.

Alex sighs, his chuckles subsiding, and sort of melts into the couch. "You're fun."

"I'm taking that with a grain of salt, because you're blazed."

"I'm not that high," Alex says, rolling his eyes with a flirty smile. Neil's pretty certain he wants to fuck Alex. But when he thinks about it, he doesn't focus on his own gratification; he imagines Alex writhing underneath him, lips parted as he huffs and groans his way toward orgasm. Or Alex's fingers raking down his back. Or Alex riding Neil's cock, his head tipped back in ecstasy. Or how his dick might look and feel in Neil's hand, blushing red and leaking precum.

Neil might be a little gayer than he thought.

They settle in and watch a low-budget movie on TV, laughing uproariously at the terrible special effects and poorly-written dialogue. Alex shares a joint with Neil, and the last thing Neil remembers is drinking a beer from the minibar.

* * *

The morning sunlight crawls over Neil's face. He rubs his eyes, squinting against the bright light. His eyelids creak open like rusted locks. He's lying on the couch in Alex's hotel room, one leg dragging the floor, his head cradled against one of the armrests. Alex is tucked on the other side, curled into the fetal position with one arm dangling over the side of the couch. Piled in the hotel ashtray are the ashy remnants of a joint.

Quietly, Neil rises from the couch and drags himself into the bathroom to freshen up. By the time he's finished, Alex is already awake and brewing a pot of coffee.

"Hey," Alex says, his smile tinged with morning-after embarrassment. Oh God, they didn't _do_ anything, did they? "You want some coffee?"

"Sure." Neil wonders how to ask Alex if there was any sexual touching last night. It's definitely not something he would do sober, but Drunk and High Neil might. He's never been inebriated around someone he's sexually attracted to. This is new territory for him.

While Neil's tiptoeing around addressing the subject, Alex just dives right in. "Thanks for staying last night. I know it probably wasn't a voluntary decision, but still..."

"It's okay. I wanted to." In the time he spent getting high with Alex and enjoying himself, Neil never once wanted to go home. In an odd way, he felt like he was already there.

Alex pours the coffee into two mugs. "Do you take yours black like your misunderstood poet's soul?"

Neil snickers. "No, cream and sugar like a normal person."

Alex steps aside, allowing Neil room to pour and mix. As Neil tears open a sugar packet he hears the suctiony sound of the minifridge door opening. Then Alex sidles up beside him and pours a splash of Irish whiskey into his own mug.

"Are you drunk all the time?"

"No, just buzzed." Alex lifts his mug in a 'cheers' gesture and takes a sip.

Something about Alex makes Neil want to pull him close and kiss him and take him out for breakfast at a French bistro.

God help him, he's having _clean_ fantasies. About a guy.

What the fuck is this? He's not high anymore, and second-hand pot smoke can't possibly be that potent.

Neil hasn't had a crush on anyone since he was an awkward teenager. He's too old for this shit.

He stirs the cream and sugar into his coffee and, without thinking, says, "You should stay with me."

Alex snorts a laugh over the rim of his mug, spattering brown flecks of coffee into the air. "What? Are _you_ drunk?"

"I'm not ruling out the possibility," Neil says, because what the hell even is his life? "But there's no reason for you to live in a hotel room. You can stay with me in my apartment. If you want, I mean."

"That's a very generous offer. What's the catch?"

"Don't be a slob? Maybe do a load of laundry once in a while? But that's kind of common sense."

"You'd be surprised," Alex says with a teasing curl of a smile. He takes another drink, perhaps thinking over the offer. "This is really nice of you. But you don't have to feel sorry for me."

"That's not why I'm—I like spending time with you, Alex, and being around each other more often will be great for the book. I want to help you out however I can."

"I don't wanna cramp your style."

"I live with a cat who I talk to like he's a person. There's no style here."

Alex hesitates for a moment. "You can't tell Geddy, okay?"

"My lips are sealed."

"And I'll be outta your hair in a week."

"Nonsense. You can stay until you find a place. An actual place of your own, not somebody letting you crash on their couch."

"Would you be this generous for just any of your subjects?" Alex asks, his eyebrow arched in a particularly challenging way.

"Of course." Neil likes to think that he would, but deep down he isn't sure of anything anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex moves in with Neil that same afternoon. He doesn't have many personal belongings—just two suitcases full of clothes and personal artifacts—so the moving process is rather understated. It's only as soon as Alex walks through the front door that Neil realizes his apartment looks like the hideaway of a lonely old man. None of the décor could be considered modern or hip by any stretch. The half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the dining table, covered by a protective sheet of plastic, isn't doing him any favors either. He clears away the pile of newspapers—he cuts coupons, for the love of God—and magazines, drops them into a box underneath the table.

Alex looks around, observing his surroundings. "Wow, I've already marked off three things on my sadness scavenger hunt."

Every time Alex makes a snarky remark, Neil wants to shut him up with his mouth. It's probably not normal that Alex's teasing turns Neil on so much.

Spats emerges from the bedroom, drawn out by the sound of voices. Alex notices the black-and-white cat and gasps. "Is that your cat?"

Neil looks at Spats. "I've never seen that cat in my life."

Alex chortles and crouches as Spats creeps closer. "Hey there, fluffy man. Can I stay with you and your dad a while?"

Neil isn't sure if Alex is making fun of him or if he genuinely does talk to animals like they're people. Either way it's kind of adorable, especially since Alex seems to be waiting for Spats to answer.

Spats allows Alex to scratch him behind the ears. "I had a cat once," Alex says, and, dear God, he's bonding with the animal. "Her name was Snowball, and my sister used to dress her up in baby clothes and push her around the block in a stroller. Don't worry, I won't do that to you." Spats purrs and does a rubbing thing with his head. Alex glances up at Neil, grinning. "I think he likes me."

"He's a softie."

"He must've learned it from you." Alex rises to his feet.

Neil actually says "bah" out loud. His transformation into a crotchety old man is complete.

Alex turns out to be a helpful presence around the house. He doesn't mind doing chores, and he knows his way around the kitchen, cobbling together a decent dinner from the sparse ingredients in Neil's fridge and cupboards. He does it all without complaint, only for want of friendly conversation, so Neil isn't too upset over postponing his nightly crossword puzzles.

Alex prepares a chicken and shrimp dish that looks like it belongs in an Italian restaurant rather than on Neil's table. It tastes that way, too.

"I should've figured you'd be an amazing cook," Neil praises, edging Spats away from the table with his foot.

"It's kind of a well-kept secret. My inventions are all about time-saving and convenience."

"You could be a chef."

Alex's eyebrows jump up. "You think so? That was never really something I considered. My father wouldn't approve."

"Does it really matter what he thinks anymore?"

"You're so lucky you had a relatively normal childhood," Alex says with a quiet, bitter chuckle.

It's probably not wise to talk about Alex's family life when he's sober. "Is your father's approval the only thing stopping you?"

"Well, that and not having the money to actually go to culinary school. But thanks for believing in me." Alex takes a bite. "Damn, I am a pretty good cook."

"And humble, too," Neil teases.

Alex rolls his eyes and makes a pouty face with his mouth full, and Neil finds himself wanting to kiss him.

After dinner, Alex washes the dishes while Neil slips into the shower. Neil contemplates his life choices underneath the hot spray of water. Was it really the best idea to cohabitate—however temporarily—with someone he's attracted to? Neil hasn't shared his living space with anyone in quite a while (not since his days living with roommates and living off cheap ramen). He didn't even get that far with Jackie. But of course he'd invite the cute guy he's only known for a week to live with him for an indeterminate amount of time.

It seems Neil is continuing his grand tradition of making rash decisions that will inevitably fuck up his life and possibly the lives of others. He and Alex might have that in common.

He gives his cock a few half-hearted tugs, but he's too disappointed in himself to properly enjoy it. He gives up and shuts off the water.

When he's dried off and dressed, Neil discovers Alex in the kitchen talking to Spats. It's less of a conversation and more along the lines of one-sided baby talk.

"Who's a special boy?" Alex says, touching a finger to the cat's pink nose. "That's right. You are!" Spats is sitting on the kitchen counter, which means Alex probably picked him up and placed him there, since Neil shoos him off the countertop when he climbs up there himself. "You know where your dad keeps the booze?"

"Why? Are you planning on revealing some horrible secret?" Neil asks, wiping his face with a towel.

Alex turns to look at him and startles as though Neil just materialized in the living room. "Maybe. We'll see what happens." His voice is shaky, like he's embarrassed Neil caught him talking to the cat.

"I keep the good stuff in the cabinet to your right."

Alex locates it and pulls out the first thing he sees: a half-full bottle of whiskey. He pours himself a glass, and Spats hops off the counter when Neil moves closer. Alex sort of shrinks away from him, his cheeks glowing a faint pink.

"I talk to Spats too," Neil says, trying to be reassuring. "Don't worry about it."

Alex just blushes harder and slips out of the kitchen.

Neil doesn't know what the hell that's about, because he's learned Alex doesn't get embarrassed about very much. At least not in a silent way where he clams up and doesn't make a joke to cover it. In fact, any moment where Alex is quiet should be deemed suspicious.

Later, Neil pulls some old blankets out of the closet and helps Alex make up the couch. The blankets smell like mothballs and aged detergent, but Alex doesn't seem to mind. He sets up camp in the living room, flipping channels on the television, and Neil reminds him to feed Spats before bed, which makes him feel like an overbearing parent as soon as it leaves his mouth.

It's only when Neil's lying in his own bed in the dark that his brain snags on the glimmer of a possibility.

What if Alex is attracted to him?

It's ridiculous, because it's impossible. Sure, Alex might appreciate having someone to talk to who won't judge him, and he might confuse friendship feelings for crush feelings—didn't Alex say he only had one other friend (who he also developed a crush on)?—but... No. Not Neil. Not the guy Alex constantly jokes about being boring and uninteresting.

Unless Alex teases him as a subtle type of flirtation.

No way. What do they even have in common aside from a few personal experiences? Alex hardly seems the type to get excited about birdwatching or cycling or reading. He might enjoy travelling, but only for the sake of visiting exotic restaurants. Even their musical tastes seem to be on polar ends of the spectrum. Neil grew up appreciating jazz and big band stuff, where Alex probably enjoys loud, blood-pumping rock.

At least Neil's assuming so, since he doesn't actually know what kind of music Alex likes.

Holy shit. He barely knows anything about Alex.

How is he supposed to write a book about the guy when he can't even name a band Alex listens to or a hobby he enjoys? What does Alex do when he's stressed out or feeling good or when he's depressed? Does he sing along when his favorite song comes on the radio? Does he mutter to himself when he's trying to put something together?

Neil decides tomorrow he's going to learn these things.

* * *

A cloying smell wakes Neil up in the morning, and his sluggish, half-asleep brain panics that the house might be on fire before he stumbles into the kitchen and discovers Alex making French toast. Coffee steams in the coffee pot, filling the air with a familiar, roasted aroma.

"Morning!" Alex says when he looks up from the stovetop and sees Neil standing at the mouth of the kitchen looking bewildered. "I hope you're hungry. What do you usually have for breakfast?"

"Just... whatever I can make easily. I don't really cook."

"Yeah, I noticed. Your fridge is a disgrace. When was the last time you went to the store?"

Neil finds that he can't remember. "Uh..."

"Doesn't matter. I can do the shopping if you're too busy." Alex laughs to himself. "Jeez, I really missed my calling as a housewife, huh?"

"It's never too late," Neil jokes. "Follow your dreams."

Alex snickers and hands Neil a plate of decadent French toast topped with blueberries and cream sauce. Neil hums his thanks, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

They sit at the table, and Alex is positioned in a way that the morning light from the patio doors makes him glow like a figure in a classical painting. His messy hair shines, strands of golden wheat swooped over his right eye and hanging past his ears. Neil is particularly intrigued by the thin hairs covering Alex's arms, and he wonders what it might feel like to glide his fingers through them.

Stricken by a realization, Neil asks, "Where were your parents from?"

"Yugoslavia," Alex says, his mouth half full.

"So I'm guessing 'Alex Lifeson' isn't the name you were born with."

"Nope! It's Živojinović! Say that three times fast," Alex chuckles. "You can understand why I changed it. Easier to remember."

"And pronounce." Neil sips his coffee. "Where did 'Lifeson' come from?"

"It's a rough translation of my birth name. I'm not very creative."

"I'm sure millions of wanna-be inventors would claim otherwise."

The corner of Alex's mouth twitches into a smile. "I just got lucky."

Neil pokes at a blueberry with his fork. "What do you do for fun?"

"What most people do. I go to movies, concerts, the arcade. I like cooking and fixing things. But nowadays I just fall asleep on the couch watching Night Walk."

"Doesn't everyone?" Neil says with a chuckle. He tries to imagine how normal people do this whole dating thing, since apparently he's inept at it. He had learned a lot about Jackie when he wasn't really trying, just spending time with her in various places, and random things would remind her of a memory or an opinion and that would snowball into more information and eventually Neil could fill a book with what he knew of her.

Maybe he's overthinking this.

"You mentioned going shopping," Neil starts. "Maybe we could go to the market, pick up some things so you can cook."

Alex perks up. "Yeah? That'd be great. 'Bout time you got some actual food." He takes another bite, pauses. "Wait, you're coming with me? Is that 'cause you don't trust me with money?"

Neil blanches at the accusation, but he isn't sure if he should reveal the real reason yet. "I think it would be a good idea."

Alex shrugs as if to say 'what can you do?' "Yeah, I guess I can't blame you."

"Honestly, it's nothing personal—"

Alex stops him by holding up a hand. "Don't be so patronizing. I get it." He doesn't sound angry, but Neil can't imagine there isn't some deeply-buried resentment there.

Neil thoroughly enjoys his weekly trips to the supermarket—a fact which, if spoken aloud, Alex would absolutely make a joke about—because it gives him a reason to escape the noisy confines of the city. Most of the local grocery stores are located on the outskirts of the city, and Neil drives them through the crowded city streets.

Alex sits in the passenger seat, watching the world unfold outside the window. He has his arm propped against the door, chin resting in his hand. Neil wonders what he might be thinking about, what creative or worried thoughts are running through his head.

"I like to imagine all those really tall buildings are giant severed robot schlongs."

So much for deep thought.

"You have a very, uh, vivid imagination."

"Yeah, that's what they all said. But I fizzled out."

"I think all creative people go through a slump every now and then."

"Slumps are more like coming up with a bunch of ideas that either suck or just don't work. This is just like... emptiness. Honestly, I don't _want_ to come up with something else. But I know I have to, so there's all that added stress on top of things."

Neil taps his index finger on the steering wheel. "Pretend money isn't an issue. What do you see yourself doing?"

"I like cooking," Alex says, almost unsure. "It's fun coming up with recipes and putting new twists on old ones."

"So you're not suffering from an overall lack of creativity, then. You're just bored with inventing products. I don't think it's unusual to get bored with something you've been doing for a long time. Maybe it's in your best interest to pursue the cooking side of things. At least you know you're passionate about it."

"For now. What happens when I get bored with that? Just jump onto something else?"

"Well, yeah. You save up enough money, and you can hop from venture to venture without too much trouble. You just have to be successful."

"The one flaw in my plan."

"From the looks of things, I think you took on too much responsibility. You told me you oversee everything at LerxstCo. All that responsibility plus coming up with inventions to keep the company afloat? No wonder you're burnt out."

"Burnt out... Yeah, that sounds about right."

When they get inside the store, Alex picks out a cluster of grapes which he eats as they roll through the aisles. Neil has a neatly-ordered shopping list, while Alex just sort of haphazardly throws things into the cart. Is there a method to his madness, or is he more like a child set loose in a candy store?

They're having a bit of a debate in the potato chip aisle—"No one eats salt and vinegar chips, they're disgusting!"—when a timid male voice says, "Alex?"

Alex whirls in the direction of the voice, and his body language immediately stiffens. "Oh! Hey... you. How've you been?"

"Can't complain," he says with a shrug. The man is about Alex's height and age, with glasses and short, dark brown hair. His slight build is hidden under a bulky sweater and acid-wash jeans. He is unremarkable in every way.

"Oh, um, Neil, this is Liam. He's a friend of mine," Alex says, but his tone and body language betray him. Neil doubts Liam is just a friend. Especially since Alex hastily adds, "Neil's writing my biography. Or _memoirs_ , if you're an uppercrust snob."

"Neil," Liam says, as though testing the name in his mouth. "You're an author? Seriously cool."

Neil gives him an appreciative, shy smile. He hopes this is as far as the adoration goes.

Liam grins at Alex. "Well, look at you, Mr. Famous, getting your own biography! How's life been treating you?"

"Great! Never better! I'm living the dream."

Liam peers into Neil and Alex's cart. "When'd you start drinking tea?"

Alex follows his line of sight. "No, that's Neil's." He sees the confusion on Liam's face. "He's living with me for a few weeks so he can write a better book. All about seeing me in my natural state, y'know. Warts and all." He laughs nervously.

Liam seems to know Alex well enough to detect a slight fudging of truth here, but he won't call him on it here. There's a curious expression on his face that Neil can't read. "Well, I'll let you get back to it, then. It was great seeing you again, Alex. Give me a call when you get the chance, okay?"

"Yeah, sure thing."

When Liam's gone, Neil says, "How do you two know each other?"

"We used to date," Alex admits in a tiny voice.

So Neil's hunch was correct. "What happened?"

"I wasn't really looking for anything serious at the time."

"And now?"

Alex shrugs and pops another grape into his mouth. "I don't know. I don't think I could tell him half of what I've told you."

"You don't trust him?"

"I don't trust him to still like me when it's all said and done."

"You're not a war criminal, Alex," Neil reminds him. He thinks Alex could use some perspective here.

"No, I'm worse."

Neil isn't even going to touch that. Alex is seriously deluded, unless there's something huge he's not telling Neil. Which is entirely possible. Hadn't Alex said his secrets have secrets? Maybe he was driving drunk and killed someone. No, that probably would have made the news. Unless it didn't. Maybe there's a more sinister explanation for Alex's bankruptcy. Maybe Alex went broke paying off the family and covering up the accident.

Whoa.

Neil's been watching too much Murder, She Wrote. Not everything is tragic and horrible.

They make it home with more groceries than Neil anticipated. His freezer is packed tight like a precarious Jenga puzzle, and removing items occasionally results in a massive landslide of frozen TV dinners and ice cream pints.

After unloading the groceries, Neil changes clothes and slips out of the apartment while Alex is busy in the kitchen. He heads downstairs to the gym, eager to burn off some of the sexual frustration festering in his head and loins.

Most people avoid exercise or at least view it as a necessary evil. Not Neil. Most of his favorite hobbies involve physical exertion: skiing, cycling, jogging. A good workout helps him clear his head, which he desperately needs if he's going to finish Alex's memoirs sometime this century.

The gym is empty and smells like dirty socks, which is an improvement from its usual, uh, aroma. Neil climbs on an exercise bike and pedals away.

There's a steadily-growing part of him that's ashamed of his invitation for Alex to live with him, because he knows his intentions weren't the purest they could've been. He wants to see if it's possible for Alex to grow to love him. Alex already trusts him deeper than he trusts anyone else, so they're off to a good start. He's well aware that his accusations of Geddy being unethical and greasy are a bit of a "it takes one to know one" situation, but, hell, is it really so bad to want to be with someone? It's not like he's manipulating Alex or taking advantage of him, just providing a sounding board. However Alex may (or may not) feel after getting things off his chest is his own problem.

Neil needs to know Alex's secrets, not just for the purposes of the book, but to satisfy his own curiosity and prove to Alex that not everyone will abandon him after he's laid bare his sins. He tries to imagine the worst-case scenario, something so terrible that Neil couldn't stand beside Alex. Maybe if Alex was a serial killer or rapist. But Alex doesn't seem like the type of person to do those things. That's not proof that he _isn't_ —Ted Bundy fooled everyone, too—but Alex is just too kind and pure. And he loves animals. Serial killers usually torture animals.

So, a point for Alex.

Neil should probably be worried about Alex's countless lies, but he can't see them as anything other than a defense mechanism. Alex lies to people he doesn't trust. For some inexplicable reason, he trusts Neil. So the lies fell away, and Alex slowly exposed the tender underbelly of truth to him. Unless all of that was bullshit, too, just a manufactured sob story about being broke and queer and cast out. For what purpose, exactly? Neil isn't rich, so conning him for money isn't a great plan.

Which brings him right back to the murderer theory. Damn.

Maybe it's something more innocent. Maybe Alex gets a sexual thrill out of duping people, and there's nothing malicious about it at all.

Or maybe he's telling the truth.

Fuck, this was supposed to clear Neil's head, but his thoughts are running in a hamster wheel.

Neil pedals faster, like that will help.

An hour later, he comes through the door of his apartment, sweat-stippled and mentally exhausted. Alex is watching MTV, lying on the couch with a plate of potato chips and half a grilled cheese balanced on his stomach.

"I grilled you a cheese," he says with his mouth half-full. "If you're hungry." His eyes are snagged on the television, and when he looks at Neil his face turns a delicious shade of pink.

It occurs to Neil that he is flushed and sweaty and clad in a tanktop and shorts, which Alex might consider a turn-on. Alex might be blushing because he's _attracted_ to Neil.

Now there's something to think about. But not too much, because he's probably deluding himself.

"Did you feed Spats?" Neil asks instead.

"Yeah, I gave him some sliced ham. He inhaled it and went into your room to sleep it off."

Neil makes a noise of acknowledgment and heads for the shower. When he's finished, he shuts himself in his bedroom for a few solid hours of writing. Alex seems to understand a closed door means 'do not disturb,' because he doesn't bother Neil until the sun has disappeared in the sky and the warm scent of spices creeps through the cracks in the door.

Alex knocks twice, peeks his head in after Neil grants him entry. "Dinner's ready," he says meekly before slipping down the hall.

Neil realizes he never actually ate lunch and is now starving.

Alex has prepared a mouthwatering dinner of chicken breasts baked in a maple and dijon mustard sauce. The smell is aromatic and tangy. They sit at the table and eat in a comfortable silence punctuated by Neil's occasional quiet noises of food-borne ecstasy.

"This is really good," he finally says. Alex beams with pride. "Can I hire you to be my full-time personal chef?"

Alex laughs. "I thought I already was." He drops his gaze to his plate. "I'm glad you like it. I haven't really had the opportunity to cook for someone else lately. But I've definitely been eating enough for two."

Neil wants to say something uplifting like 'you don't look it,' but fears that might come across as a flirtation. And he still isn't sure if Alex would be comfortable with that, considering their arrangement.

Then it hits Neil like a lightning bolt, and he can't believe he never thought of it earlier. "You should write a cookbook."

Alex pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"It wouldn't cost nearly as much as starting your own restaurant. I know lots of people in publishing, so that wouldn't be an issue either. It would be a relatively cheap way of building your fortune back up and taking your career in a different direction."

Alex's eyes are wide with wonder. "Neil Peart, you're a genius." A smile spreads on his face. "That's a great idea! How come I never thought of that?"

"Sometimes you just have to stop thinking and let things happen."

"Wait, this isn't gonna cut into the sales of your book, is it?"

"I don't see how it would. They're totally different books. And I don't think they'll come out at the same time, so it shouldn't be a competition."

Alex looks happier than Neil's ever seen him, as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "This is such a great idea. Finally, something to do! Instead of stressing about my terrible life choices."

Neil thinks about saying 'not so terrible' but holds his tongue. There's probably something poignant or meaningful about his reluctance to speak his mind when usually he has no words, but he can't find it now.

After dinner, Alex is engrossed in the process of gathering and writing out recipes, so Neil leaves him to the task and retires to the bedroom. He works on his own book for an hour or two before succumbing to sleep.

He still doesn't know all of Alex's secrets, but maybe that doesn't matter so much.


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days continue this way, with Alex absorbed in building his cookbook and occasionally making (and taking) phone calls regarding the decline of his business ventures, and with Neil shut away in his bedroom, putting down page after page of Alex's memoirs. Occasionally he will stick his head out the door and ask Alex to refresh his memory on specific dates or locations, little details that slipped his mind from their previous conversations.

Alex happily cooks their meals, and over dinner they chat about music, movies, television, nothing inherently important to the book, but enough to give Neil a clearer picture about Alex as a person. He prefers rock music, enjoys horror films despite viewing the gorier scenes through the cracks between his fingers, and obsessively watches Miami Vice and Dallas.

Neil likes to watch Alex in the moments where they're together, noting the way he tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, or how he shakes his fringe out of his vision, or the way he chews his thumbnail while he watches TV. Neil is most comfortable as an observer, able to watch the way people behave without pretense. Alex might be aware he's under observation, but Neil has watched him eat raw cookie dough straight from the tube on multiple occasions, so Alex probably isn't too caught up in putting on airs.

Tonight is one of those occasions. Alex is lying on the couch, digging chunks of chocolate chip cookie dough out of the tube with a spoon. The TV is tuned to an endless parade of music videos. Neil lingers on the other end of the couch. He should have retreated to his writing room an hour ago, but MTV is kind of hypnotizing, and when it's not Alex fills the gaps.

"Cookies would have been nice," Neil says, watching Alex devour a heaping spoonful of dough.

"I make mine from scratch," Alex says with his mouth full. "This is just a snack." He chews, swallows. "I make the most amazing cookies in the entire world. Cream cheese and double chocolate chip."

"Is that in your recipe book?"

"I don't know if the world is ready for it." He takes another spoonful, savoring it slowly. Then he asks, "How come you're not locked away in the writer's dungeon?"

"It's a _fungeon_ ," Neil corrects with a chuckle. Alex makes an amused sound. "And I don't know. Writing is hard. I thought I'd take a break."

"How hard can it be? I mean, you're just writing my life. You don't have to make anything up." Alex narrows his eyes. "You're not making things up, are you?"

"Well, no, but there is a certain poetry to words and the way they're structured in a sentence, even if there's no apparent rhyme scheme. There's still a rhythm, and it needs to be appealing to one's inner narrator. And as a writer, I'm looking at the best way to present this story—your story—to a reader in a way they're familiar with. All stories—or at least the most easily digestible ones—have a three-act structure, where the hero begins his journey, then goes through trial and hardship, and either emerges victorious or fails his quest. So there's a bit of wrangling involved with how best to present these things and arrange them in this structure."

Alex is watching him with a goofy smile, his lower lip slightly caught between his teeth, and he glances down and spoons out more cookie dough.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just.." Alex shakes his head, the smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. "You talk really fast when you're excited about something. It's funny."

So he was prattling on like an idiot? Christ, why didn't Alex stop him?

Neil feels a flush creep up the back of his neck, which he tries nervously to rub away. "Sorry. I make the mistake of assuming everyone's as interested in things as I am."

"It's not a bad thing. Passion is great."

"It can be dangerous," Neil says, his own feelings for Alex in mind.

Alex nods as though considering that, jams the spoon into his mouth. "Maybe. Better to have it than not, though."

Neil isn't so sure. His own passion is distracting as hell, and he wishes he could stuff it into some internal suitcase long enough for him to finish this book without doing something stupid.

"Speaking of passion," Neil says, "have you called Liam?"

Alex snorts. "That was a really smooth segue." Neil can tell by Alex's tone that it wasn't. "And no, I haven't."

"I distinctly recall you telling me you wanted to be with someone."

Alex rolls his eyes. "Oh, so you remember that but not my birthdate or the name of the town where I grew up? Or that I told you Liam isn't the kind of person who would stay if he knew all the awful shit in my past?"

"You could call him, at least, and tell him you're not interested. He seems to like you. I would appreciate the notice, if I were in his shoes."

"If you were in his shoes your feet would probably hurt," Alex says, snickering at his own joke.

Neil decides to poke at the hive of Alex's defenses. "You don't think he could handle hearing that your father was abusive? Or that you dropped out of high school? It's probably better if he hears it from you rather than reading it in the book."

Alex looks frustrated. He stabs the spoon into the dough. "Who cares? I don't even like him that way." Alex's pouty face and tone remind Neil of Selena. "I never did. And I don't think he'd stick around anyway, now that I'm broke."

"You're in a temporary financial bind," Neil corrects.

"Whatever. My point still stands." Alex gets up from the couch, like putting physical distance between himself and Neil will salve the damage in his emotional armor. He tosses the carcass of the cookie dough tube into the garbage, drops the spoon in the dishwasher. He opens the cabinet and finds the whiskey.

"So if you don't plan on opening up to anyone, how do you expect to have a relationship worth having?" Neil asks. "You don't strike me as the type of person who'd be happy with meaningless sex."

Alex pours himself a glass. "Wouldn't mind it. But you fuck up enough and realize no one could love you if they really knew you."

"You are not your mistakes." Poke. Poke.

Alex downs the shot. "Mistakes are fine. Life-ruining fuckups are a whole 'nother can of worms."

"So you're a dropout. I am too."

That piques Alex's interest. "Really?"

"Yeah. And I wouldn't consider it a"—Neil uses air-quotation marks here—"'life-ruining fuckup.'"

Alex pours another drink, shoots it back. "It wouldn't matter. You're not a piece of shit." He doesn't say 'like me,' but he doesn't need to.

"Alex, there's nothing you could tell me that would make me think that way about you."

"Really?" Alex says, a bitter edge in his voice. He sets the empty glass on the countertop with a heavy hand. "Even if I told you I killed someone?"

A cold gust blows across Neil's heart. He had considered this possibility, but being faced with it now makes his insides shrivel in... what, exactly? Fear? Distress? Concern for Alex?

The world goes quiet and still. Neil finds his voice. "It was an accident, right? I know you're not a murderer."

Alex lifts his head, tears streaming down his face. He grips the glass like he's considering a refill, but stops himself. His hand falls away, and he moves toward the window. Neil's heart stutters for a half-beat, and he fears Alex might jump off the balcony. But Alex just pushes aside the curtain and stares out at the Toronto skyline.

"My sister was a year older than me. She was smart, so she got a scholarship to UBC. The summer before she started university, she went to Paris with some of her friends. I didn't want her to go, 'cause I didn't wanna be alone in that house with our parents fighting all the time. We were s'posed to be in the trenches together, but she caught the last helicopter out of Vietnam, y'know?"

Neil wants to suggest Alex doesn't use metaphors—after all, who's the writer here?—but he just nods, urges Alex to continue. His brain's already seeking out the twists, trying to predict the ending.

"But I know she wanted out just as bad as I did. Things got worse after she left. My father got angrier and more violent. Now that I was the only child in the house, I think he came to resent me even more. I wasn't athletic or smart—not according to my grades, anyway. My sister he could be proud of, but I was just the mistake, the son who liked to cook and help Mom in the kitchen and with laundry. He used to jokingly call me his 'other daughter.' It stopped being a joke to him after a while. I wasn't insulted by it, but I was angry that he thought I should be, y'know?"

Neil leans forward on the couch, enthralled in Alex's tale. Where will this lead? Did Alex kill his father? It would make a whole lot of sense, and Neil isn't sure he could blame Alex for it. In a situation where Dad's had one too many drinks and gets aggressive with Mom, Alex might have interfered to protect her. Could anyone blame him for that?

Alex takes a deep breath, shudders. "Anyway.. you can imagine how he reacted when he suspected I might be gay. Maybe he overheard my mom and Geddy's mom talking about it, or just assumed I was. I don't know the details. But when I came home that night he grabbed me and started screaming at me, using all the classic lines like 'no son of mine is gay' and 'I didn't raise you to be a faggot,' except he didn't know those words in English so he ended up swearing at me in two languages. I told him I wasn't—which is technically true—but he didn't believe me. He kept saying I spent too much time with Geddy, that it wasn't right, blah, blah, blah. My mom begged him to stop and tried to pull us apart, but he was huge, so that wasn't happening. He shoved me against the wall so hard that my head left a dent in the plaster."

Jesus. Neil opens his mouth but no words come.

"I left that night and never came back."

In the reflection of the glass, Neil can see Alex's eyes, filled with tears and total devastation.

"I got her killed," Alex says, his voice quivering like a frightened child's.

Neil shuts his eyes, knowing where this will end.

"Three months later, Geddy tracked me down. I was sharing an apartment with Charlene, my girlfriend at the time. He told me my sister needed to get in touch with me, that it was an emergency. I called her at the number Geddy left me, and my sister told me our mother was dead."

Neil wants to get up from the couch and go to Alex, to offer him some form of comfort, but he doesn't know if that would be welcome.

Alex wipes his eyes with his fingers. "No one knows what happened. My father told the police that it was an accident. She tripped and fell. Mom never called the cops when he had one of his fits. She would threaten to, and that would usually get him to back off or at least stop throwing things. But that meant the police didn't have a record of domestic disturbance calls to our house, y'know, so if anybody claimed he hit her or pushed her, it was just their word against his.

"But the coroner's report says she died from blunt force trauma to the head. Most likely from a fall, like she hit her head on the corner of a table. I know he pushed her." Alex sighs a shaky breath. "I almost didn't go to the funeral. I was afraid my sister would blame me for not being there to protect her. And I was afraid to see my father again. But Geddy and his mom went with me for support while I sat there staring at the urn that contained about five pounds of the ashes of my mother's body. Yeah, she was cremated. Probably for financial reasons, but I have a feeling my father was trying to cover his tracks, making sure there wasn't a body that could be exhumed later."

Neil feels like he's been washed ashore after being thrashed about in a raging sea. "Alex..."

Alex shakes his head, still refusing to look at Neil. "I killed her. If I had just—if I hadn't been so goddamned stupid..."

"You didn't know—"

Alex scoffs a nasty-sounding laugh. "Please. I knew what he was. And I left her with him. I was supposed to protect her."

"You've got it backwards. A mother protects her child. You were only seventeen—"

"I was old enough to do something besides run. I could've asked her to come with me instead of just running away like a bratty kid."

Neil stands up and moves toward Alex. Alex sees him in the glass and shakes his head again. "Don't," he says in a tender voice. "Just leave me alone for a bit, okay?"

That's the last thing Neil wants to do, but he doesn't seem to have much of a choice. "Okay, if that's what you need."

Alex doesn't answer, just keeps staring out the window as though he sees a better life out there in the midnight sparkle of lights and neon signs.

Neil retreats to his bedroom, numb.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dusts cobwebs off story* I'll finish this one, don't worry. I just needed a break.

Neil sleeps fitfully that night, waking at odd intervals from disturbing dreams that still clutch at him even after he blinks awake into the darkness of his bedroom. Spats grumbles displeasure at Neil's ever-shifting limbs, climbing off the bed for a snack while Neil settles in, then leaping back into the empty space when the tossing and turning has ceased.

Alex's story has taken hold of Neil's mind, and when he falls asleep he's trapped in that household, enlisted in a war he never signed up for. He wakes up sweaty and drowsy, the cold fingers of the nightmare clawing at the edges of his consciousness, and he closes his eyes and does it all again.

At some point he wakes up to a sandpapery tongue licking his cheek. He opens his eyes, and there's Spats trying to rouse him. Neil groans a throaty noise, and Spats meows—yells, really, because he's right in Neil's face—in response.

"Did Alex feed you?" Neil mumbles, not really expecting an answer, but Spats makes a rumbly sound and butts his head against Neil's shoulder.

His weary eyes move in search of the clock on the night table. The digital display reads 9:45 a.m. in bright red numbers. So this is less of a 'feed me' plea from Spats and more of an 'are you alive?' line of questioning.

Neil briefly panics, remembering Alex's somber mood last night, but the air smells sweet and delicious, which likely means Alex is alive and busy preparing breakfast. He shuffles out to the kitchen and discovers Alex has made pancakes with marshmallow fluff frosting. Neil catches him dropping a handful of marshmallows into his mouth.

"Morning," Alex says, his mouth half-full, one cheek bulging like he's a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter. "There's pancakes if you're hungry."

Neil doesn't really want that much sugar at the start of the day, but he also doesn't want to run the risk of insulting Alex by preparing a healthier breakfast instead. So he makes himself a plate while brewing his morning tea. He opts for butter and maple syrup in lieu of the white sugary paste Alex is pouring over his own cakes.

Alex sits at the table, one leg crossed over the other as he flips through a department store flier from this morning's paper. His hair is artfully mussed, thin strands of blond sticking out and catching the light. He hasn't shaved yet, and the faint hint of five o'clock shadow on his jaw turns Neil on. What would his mouth feel like, Neil wonders? Is Alex a passionate kisser, or would he erupt in a fit of giggles, unable to properly kiss because he's smiling too hard? Neil suspects the latter, but Alex has proven to be full of surprises.

Alex takes a bite, his tongue darting out to catch the smear of icing at the corner of his lips. And now Neil has a boner at the breakfast table. Fantastic.

"Looking for a new wardrobe?" Neil says as Alex turns the page.

"I just like looking at the ads. Lemme guess, you're more of a stocks kind of guy?"

Neil makes an amused face, curious why Alex made that assumption. "Do I look like a Wall Street trader?"

"Sometimes you dress like one."

"I thought I dressed like a college professor."

"No reason you can't be both. You could be an economics professor."

Neil shakes his head with a chuckle. "I'm not really as stuffy as you think." An idea sparks in his head. "In fact, I'll prove it to you. Are you busy today?"

Alex shakes his head, his brow creased in confusion.

"Good. Then we're going on a little trip, and you'll see that I can be fun."

"Are you really—" Alex shuts up, like he's aware protestations might cancel whatever Neil has planned for today. His mouth pulls into a smile. "Okay. Let's see where this goes."

After breakfast, Neil freshens up in the bathroom and changes into jeans and a striped sweatshirt, about which Alex just cannot resist making a joke. Of course.

"You look like Freddy Krueger's nerdy brother," Alex says through breathy laughter.

Neil glances down at his own attire. It must be the sweatshirt. "I thought I looked like someone's dad. Or a college professor."

"You're multi-faceted."

Neil huffs and turns back to the bathroom to change. Damn this crush and his stupid, childish need to be liked.

"I'm just teasing you. You know that, right? Or do you think I'm a giant asshole making fun of you all the time?"

"Well, not _all_ the time." Neil flashes him a small smile.

Alex laughs. "Yes! Please joke around with me, or I'm gonna feel like a dick if I'm the only one doing it."

"I wasn't joking," Neil says with a straight face.

Alex's eyes go wide in terror.

Neil grins.

"Oh, you got me!"

Alex is ready to go twenty minutes later, looking edible in jeans, a grey t-shirt, and a white blazer. His shy smile is a sight to behold, and Neil seriously thinks about kissing him right here.

"I thought you were gonna write today," Alex says as they ride down together in the elevator.

"No reason I can't take a day off, right?"

"Except for your tireless work ethic. What are you, like, halfway done with the book already?"

Neil only wishes he were that productive. "Maybe a quarter finished. Of the first draft, of course."

"At that rate you'll be finished in about three weeks, huh?"

Only three more weeks with Alex? Neil doesn't want to think about that. He knows Alex will insist on moving out after the book is finished, unwilling to 'intrude' on Neil's space any longer than necessary. And then what will happen? Will they keep in touch, or will they drift back to their separate orbits?

"That's a pretty quick estimate," Neil says. The elevator doors open, and they spill out into the lobby. "And it doesn't account for natural human error or procrastinatory tendencies."

"Just 'cause you're a writer doesn't mean you can make up words."

"'Procrastinatory' is absolutely a word. Open a dictionary." Alex gave Neil permission to tease him, so he's taking advantage of it now.

"Okay, I will," Alex says with a pout. "And I'm also gonna look up the word 'butthead' 'cause it'll have your picture next to it."

Neil cracks a smile. "I'm sure that would have been insulting if I were a five-year-old."

They climb into Neil's car, and Alex stretches out his long legs. "So where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

Alex lifts his eyebrows. "Oh? Can I guess?"

"I won't stop you, but you'd be wasting your time. My lips are sealed."

Neil gets them on the road, or at least in the congested queue of cars in line to leave the city. Good thing they got an early start.

Alex fiddles with the radio, and he settles on a song but doesn't turn it up too loud, making room for conversation. "So," he starts, dragging out the word as he begins his guessing game, "are we going to a movie?"

Neil doesn't answer.

"A bowling alley? Oh no, wait, you wanted to prove that you're fun."

Neil's mouth twitches into a half-smile.

"A casino?" Alex's expression is sweet and exuberant, his sunshine smile filling the car. If Neil admires him any longer, he'll rear-end the van in front of him.

Alex's guesses get more and more ridiculous as they drive, and Neil entertains each one with small chuckles and smiles while they roll along the highway.

"Will you please just tell me?" Alex finally sighs, slumping in the seat, his limbs splayed theatrically.

"You'll find out."

"How?"

"Because the car will stop and we'll get out."

Alex scrunches up his face. "Okay, smartass."

"Just trust me. If I know you, I think you'll enjoy it."

"Fine," Alex sighs again, propping his elbow against the door. He rests his head in his hand and watches the scroll of buildings. Then, after a moment: "Punch buggy!" Alex slugs Neil in the shoulder as VW Beetle drives by.

"Ow."

Alex wiggles his hand as though he hurt himself. "Ow yourself. What the hell are you made out of? Titanium?"

"I'm secretly a Terminator."

"Nah, you smile too much."

Neil blinks in surprise. "You think so? Most people tell me the opposite." He wonders what it means that Alex can so effortlessly make him laugh and smile, can fill him up and break his heart all at once.

"Most people aren't me," Alex says, devoid of all modesty. "Geddy says I'm the funniest person he knows."

"To be fair, he spends all his time with a baby and an eight-year-old who thinks human gaseousness is the epitome of humor."

"You laugh at my jokes all the time. You're trying not to laugh right now 'cause you know I'm right."

Neil fights with whatever his face is doing, trying to muster up a neutral expression. "Okay, fine, you're humorous."

"Ha!" Alex settles back into his seat, smug now.

They drive through suburbs, past lush green golf courses and exclusive country clubs, through the complex maze of intersecting highways. Neil doesn't often drive this far out of the city, but he remembers the way to their destination. Alex still hasn't figured out where they're going. He's just enjoying the ride, as though he's totally okay with the possibility that Neil is taking him on an impromptu road trip.

Alex puts the pieces together as they roll into the parking lot of Canada's Wonderland. "Oh my God, you weren't joking about being fun! I take back everything I said about how boring you are."

Neil smiles to himself. "Have you been here before?"

"You really think the first thing I did when I got rich _wasn't_ 'spend a whole week at Canada's Wonderland'?"

"A week?"

"I wanted to build one in my backyard like Michael Jackson has, but I never made that much money."

"Because you never made the best-selling album of all time."

"I knew I got into the wrong business," Alex chuckles.

The sky is impressively blue, and as they walk through the park entrance Alex gawks at their surroundings in awe. There are roller coasters and concession stands and gift shops all around them. The air smells like corn dogs and funnel cakes. A knockoff Splash Mountain lies ahead, its waterfall churning in a loud roar.

"I should probably ask if you've been here before," Alex says while they walk.

"Once or twice."

"I can't imagine you here alone, riding a roller coaster with a really serious look on your face. Yeah, that's the one!" Alex points at whatever Neil's face is doing.

Neil fights a smile and wonders why, like he shouldn't let Alex know how much he enjoys his company and goofy jokes. "I wasn't alone. In my last relationship, the woman I was seeing had a young daughter. So I've been here a few times."

"I can totally picture you as a dad."

Neil waits. "You're not going to make a joke about how I already dress and act like one?"

Alex smirks knowingly, steering Neil in the direction of one of those horrible spinning airplane rides. "No, I mean it in a good way. You have principles, but you're not super-strict. You're kind and caring, but not so much that you'd be a pushover. And you wouldn't bend over backwards trying to prove you're cool."

"Then what do you call this?" Neil spreads his hands.

"Something totally different," Alex says with a twinkle in his eye.

Neil wonders what that might mean.

They get in line for the ride. Neil asks, "Do you think about it? Having kids?"

Alex shrugs. "I'd be too afraid I'd repeat my father's mistakes."

"Worrying about that probably means you're one step ahead."

"But I can't be certain. And what if whatever made him the way he was is genetic?"

"I think you'd already know. You're not abusive when you're drunk. You just tell me deeply personal things I'm still not sure if I'm allowed to put in the book."

"Warts and all, right?" The gentle breeze catches Alex's hair. His eyes widen as though he's remembered something. "Oh hey! Speaking of books, I wanna get your opinion on some recipes for mine. Maybe tomorrow? If you're not too busy."

"Never too busy for food."

"I thought you didn't care about food."

Neil decides to be honest, since Alex has already revealed so much. "It's important to you." Like that's all that matters. "And I want to help."

The line inches forward. Alex moves with it, watching Neil curiously like he expects an alien to burst out of his chest. "Does this mean I have to go nuts for birdwatching and doing million-piece puzzles?"

"I'm sure there's something we both enjoy doing."

"Like this?" Alex gestures to the park surrounding them.

Neil's been keeping a secret of his own: he's terrified of roller coasters and any amusement park ride not intended for small children. He would happily accompany Selena on the carousel and other slow-moving attractions, but once the rides generated thrilled screams he'd bow out and ask (read: beg, in a totally manly way) Jackie to go in his place.

Maybe that's another reason why Jackie left him: he's kind of a wimp. Yet here he is standing in line for a ride that has currently come to a halt due to a grown man vomiting over the side of a cartoony, smiling airplane.

"Oh my God," Alex laughs, covering his mouth in an attempt to hide his stupidly huge grin. "How embarrassing."

Neil feels a bit of color leave his face. He doesn't know if he'll throw up on this or any other intense ride, but it's absolutely possible. And he has the distant hope of wanting to kiss Alex at some point tonight, which will definitely never happen if Alex has to witness that. It's hard to come back from puking on the first date.

Is that what this is? A date?

Neil certainly intends for it to be, but Alex might be oblivious to the subtext. Best to see how things play out.

When it's their turn, Neil grips the safety bar so tightly the blood drains from his hands, making them look skeletal. Alex doesn't seem to notice. Yet.

"So what's your favorite ride here?" Alex asks, because he's assuming Neil isn't a chickenshit. "Mine is Dragon Fire, but it's been closed for a month or two 'cause some guy died on it."

Neil's heart clenches in a panic. "Say what now?"

And just like that, they're moving, slowly gaining speed and altitude as the carriages spin around. Alex looks downright relaxed, gleefully looking out at the expanse of park below them. "We're so high up!"

"Yeah." Neil's doing his best not to notice that. He has a bit of a phobia about heights. So it probably wasn't a good idea to come here. But it's not like he's the first person to do something stupid in hopes of impressing a date.

There's that word again, irritating him like a grain of sand in the retina.

The ethics of dating a client are murky at best, and Neil doesn't know if that type of intimate involvement with Alex will hurt or help the book. He has to remind himself that's what he's here for, because it slips his mind whenever Alex smiles or laughs or teases him about his life choices.

Neil glances briefly over the side of the plane and immediately wishes he hadn't. The ground is about thirty feet below him. His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth in the fleeting hope of stopping whatever might come up.

Luckily Alex doesn't see this, as he's too busy looking in the other direction and admiring the park from this high promontory. His hair flaps wildly in the breeze, and Neil's stomach tumbles again when he thinks about kissing him.

The ride is over almost as quickly as it began. Alex looks windblown and gorgeous, and Neil staggers off the ride, his legs shaking from adrenaline and a resurgence of adolescent awkwardness at how goddamn attracted he is to Alex.

"You can pick the next one," Alex says as they walk through the rows of rides and corn dog stands and midway games.

"Okay, how about that one?" Neil points to a quaint attraction made up to look like a woodsy river ride. There are canyons and majestic, tall trees, and the gushing roar of water.

Alex smiles like he's trying to figure Neil out. "Alright, you got it, chief."

The ride, it turns out, is way more intense than it looks. They climb into a six-seat inner tube that thrashes and bumps its way along the rapids. Every so often the tube will crash against the side of the track and send up a splash of water. At one point, the tube plummets over the side of a waterfall, and Neil ends up drenched by the tidal wave of water kicked up by the drop. Alex, of course, laughs his ass off, and Neil finds it difficult to be too upset. It's only water, after all.

"How soaked did you get?" Alex asks as they stagger off the ride. Neil's dripping water everywhere. His jeans feel like 800-pound weights on his legs.

Neil just plucks at his waterlogged shirt in response, the wet slap of fabric against his skin providing his answer.

Alex snickers.

"How did you manage to stay dry? You were sitting right next to me."

"I'm just lucky like that. Or unlucky, I guess, since getting wet is kinda the point."

Neil shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying.

In an effort to dry Neil off, Alex takes him on a roller coaster with multiple loops and corkscrews. Neil keeps his eyes squeezed shut and doesn't vomit, but he does scream each time the ride sends them upside down. It's exhilarating, a rush of adrenaline, and Neil feels like an idiot for being so afraid of these things.

They snack on cotton candy and funnel cakes and corn dogs. Alex pulls Neil onto a bevy of nightmare-inducing rides that look as though they'll kill him in horrifying, violent ways. But he doesn't die, and by the time the sun begins to set he's actually enjoying himself.

When night falls, they eat at an outdoor café that serves alcohol. Alex takes advantage of this, chugging down his first beer before their food even arrives. Neil, as the designated driver, sips a Diet Coke.

"So did you enjoy yourself?" Alex says with an anticipatory smile. "It's kinda hard to tell with you."

Neil wonders what that means. "You'd have to be a huge grump not to have fun at a theme park."

"Are you?"

"I had fun, Alex," Neil admits. "I told you I knew how."

Alex toys with the peeling label on his beer bottle. "Why does it matter to you that I think you're fun?"

Neil feels momentarily dazed, like he's just been punched. "Because if we're going to be working together, the whole experience will be better if we get along and enjoy each other's company." It's not _technically_ a lie...

Alex blinks, his brow creased. "You don't think I..."

He's interrupted by the server delivering their food. Flustered, Alex orders another beer.

Once they're alone again, Neil can see Alex struggling with something, so he confesses, "You know, I'd never been on a roller coaster before today."

Alex looks up from his plate in shock. "You're serious? I thought you said you went with your ex's kid."

"I did, but I didn't ride anything more exciting than a carousel."

Alex's heart-shaped mouth forms a pinched sort of smile, like he's trying not to show his amusement. "So today's been a pretty big day for you."

"Yeah." In more ways than one.

Alex is sleepily drunk during the ride home, which means he isn't as talkative as usual. Neil fills the silence in the car with soft music, trying to dampen the anxious voice in his head. He has never wanted anyone like this before, has never yearned so deeply it fills every part of him. The worst part of it all is that Alex might want him too. He wouldn't have a problem sublimating his desires for Alex's sake, but the only thing stopping him now is his own willpower.

Neil is pretty fucked, possibly in every sense of the word.

Alex stays quiet for the entire drive. Neil's almost certain he's fallen asleep until they park and Alex opens the car door. "I didn't know you could go that long without talking," Neil jokes as they head inside the apartment building. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking."

"About?"

"What would happen if I did something stupid."

The building is mostly empty at this time on a weeknight. Neil pushes the elevator button and the doors slide open.

"How stupid?"

Then they're inside the elevator, and Alex is kissing him before the doors manage to close. None of the adrenaline-spiking, heart-pounding roller coasters Neil braved today prepared him for this. His heart leaps into his throat, and he swears it stops beating for an entire second before banging against his ribs like a caged condor. Alex's mouth is soft and sweet, his hands grasping Neil's sweater to pull him closer. Neil is barely aware that they're moving up to the sixth floor; he's lost in the hot vortex of Alex's mouth, in the way his tongue lightly slips in the spaces between Neil's lips, the way his breath smells like cheap beer.

_Kiss him back, idiot._

Neil lifts a shaky hand to Alex's cheek and tries to gain control of the kiss. Alex hums a happy sound into his mouth. The elevator slows, and the doors slide open. Neil and Alex break away from each other, even though there's no one standing on the other side.

"Very stupid," Alex says with a goofy smile. His cheeks are pinker than Neil's ever seen them.

Neil just nods, unable to form coherent words. He staggers to the door of his apartment like a dazed boxer. His hands are still shaking. He fumbles with the keys.

Alex notices Neil's state of disarray. "Are you... Should I not have done that? I'm sorry. I just—I thought you liked me."

Neil finally gets the door open and clambers inside. Alex follows him, meekly.

"I do like you, Alex," Neil admits, because Alex did something crazy and spontaneous, so why not make him feel less stupid for doing so? "I'm just nervous."

"Well, the more you do something the less scary it is, right?" Alex moves closer, lays his hands on Neil's chest. Neil's heart catches in his throat again. "So maybe you should kiss me again and start getting used to it."

With the way Alex is looking at him—pleading eyes, a hopeful smile, flushed cheeks—it's nearly impossible not to lean in and press their mouths together. Alex makes a hungry noise, his fingers curling in Neil's shirt. He nudges his hips forward, and Neil is made aware of an erection pressed against his thigh.

Whoa.

Alex grinds into him, moaning around the kiss. Every cell in Neil's body vibrates like a live wire. Neil settles a hand where the curve of Alex's neck meets his shoulder, fingers pushing under his t-shirt to find the skin beneath. It's warm and soft, and Neil presses his fingers into flesh.

Alex shrugs out of his blazer, tosses it over the arm of the couch. He pushes his hands underneath Neil's sweatshirt. Alex's touch is electric and terrifying, and Neil shivers despite the warmth of his hands. Alex edges Neil backwards until the backs of his knees bump against the sofa. He tugs at Neil's shirt like he's going to pull it over his head, and Neil fumbles for Alex's wrists.

"Whoa, hey, maybe we shouldn't—" Neil's voice shakes, and he silently curses himself for sounding like a total virgin.

Alex stops, looking lost and hurt and confused. He opens his mouth as though to protest, closes it. His hands drop to his sides.

"I don't think it's a good idea to do this when you're drunk," Neil says, because he doesn't want Alex to think this rejection is anything personal.

"Well, how else was I s'posed to get the courage to do it?" Alex laughs, slightly manic.

"I'm glad you did." Neil takes Alex's hands in his own. They're softer than they have any right to be, and he can't help himself from rubbing his thumbs along the hills and valleys of Alex's knuckles. "And now that I know how you feel, we can take the time to do this right."

"I'm not drunk."

"I can smell it on your breath." His sweet, intoxicating breath.

"'Cause I've been drinking. Doesn't mean I'm drunk." Alex's words come out a little slurred—and he might actually say 'droesn't'—which really counteracts his point.

"I want you sober when we do this," Neil says, gently squeezing Alex's hands. "So you'll actually remember it, and you probably won't wake up the next morning regretting everything."

Neil's not just giving Alex time to think things over, but himself as well. Alex kissed him and tried to fuck him, and Neil needs some time to work through that, to decide if this is something he wants enough to ignore his ethics. Because if he knows himself well enough, he knows he'll wake up tomorrow morning with a sick, nervous feeling in his gut, hating himself for trampling over his own personal foul line.

Alex pouts. "I wouldn't regret it." But he seems to realize Neil isn't budging here. "Okay, you win. We'll do it your way." He untangles his fingers from Neil's own, which Neil finds momentarily disappointing until Alex asks, "Can we still make out?"


	7. Chapter 7

Surprisingly, Neil doesn't wake up hating himself. His dreams were a jumble of sights and sounds and sensations, tactile memories of Alex's hands and mouth that left him stirred up and restless. He grinds his erection into the mattress until it goes away, recalling the gentle brush of Alex's fingers. Pathetic.

Later, Neil drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen. Alex, of course, is already preparing breakfast. Spats sits at the table, lapping at a saucer of milk.

"Morning," Alex says, shyly, like he's embarrassed about last night.

Neil wants to settle behind Alex and wrap his arms around him, kiss the slope of his neck in reassurance, but he's not a brave man, so he just says, "Morning," right back. He joins Alex in the kitchen and surveys the scene: bacon, eggs, and toast. "Nothing fancy this time?"

"I don't have a lot of breakfast recipes 'cause I usually sleep through it."

"But it's the most important meal of the day."

Alex shrugs. "I'm more of a dinner guy."

They eat at the table. Neither of them address last night's events, as though they're trying to pretend it never happened. Neil wonders what that might mean, contemplates Alex's motives and considers his own. Alex is probably just embarrassed that a bulk of his advances were rejected, and hasn't brought it up because he doesn't want to push.

So what's Neil's problem, then?

"I don't really have anything to do today except work on the book," Neil starts slowly. "So if you wanted to get my opinion on those recipes, I'm available."

Alex grins, like he's pleased Neil remembered. "Great! It'll be lunch, dinner, and dessert, and maybe breakfast tomorrow morning. We might have to go to the store later though."

Neil shakes his head. "You can take my credit card."

Alex freezes. "Really?"

"I trust you."

These three simple words change Alex's entire demeanor, lighting him up from within. He looks at Neil very briefly, but there's something new and alive in his eyes now. The three words Neil could have chosen instead probably wouldn't have impacted Alex this way. Love is tossed around haphazardly, too freely and without consequence, but trust is not so easily earned. Alex seems to know this.

After breakfast, Alex heads off to the grocery store, giving Neil an hour or so to write free of distractions. But it's difficult for him to focus now that being with Alex is more than just a fantasy in his own head. He imagines how it might be—the two of them together—and his concentration drifts.

Maybe today is an editing day instead. He opts to read over what he's already written, and by the time he's finished he hears Alex come through the front door.

So much for getting any work done today.

Neil's appetite, however, gets a hell of a workout. Alex makes buffalo chicken grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, meatball and gnocchi soup for dinner, and for dessert: cream cheese and double chocolate chip cookies. Neil may never want to look at food again, but he gives Alex's cooking the highest praise and avoids stuffing himself, just in case Alex surprises him later with another course.

They end up on the couch watching Falcon Crest. Alex is close, though not as close as Neil would like him to be. He seems a little apprehensive to make any sort of intimate moves, so Neil scoots closer so they're pressed together arm to arm. Alex's hair is still damp from the shower, his skin scented by soap. His toes wiggle inside of his socks as he sips from a can of ginger ale.

Now that Neil thinks about it, he hasn't noticed Alex drinking anything harder than root beer today. Maybe it's more to do with his palate than a form of abstinence, but it makes Neil wonder if Alex is trying to be good for him. As though he's not already good.

If he is practicing self-discipline for Neil's sake, Neil should probably let Alex know his efforts are appreciated.

"You haven't been drinking today," Neil points out, clumsily. "Good job."

The corner of Alex's mouth twitches into a small smile. He taps his fingers against the can. "I want to stop. I feel like I do it partly to give me an excuse for anything dumb I do or say. Or to give me the courage to tell you things. But... I don't think I need to do that anymore. I've told you the worst of it, and you're still here."

"I promised I would be."

Alex plucks at the metal tab on top of the can. "I wish I hadn't been such a pain in the ass at first. Did you think I was a total dickhead?"

"I thought you were intriguing. I wanted to know more. For myself as well as the book."

"So playing hard to get worked out in the end?"

"People tend to take for granted things that come too easily."

Alex nods, takes a sip from the can then sets it on the coffee table. They sit through a commercial for The Incredible Hulk Returns.

"How come the only clothes the Hulk wears that change size are his pants?" Alex wonders.

"Because the censors might have a problem with a giant green naked man running around."

"Well, yeah, but there has to be an in-universe reason for it, right? The first time he hulked out, all of his clothes ripped and his dick was probably just flopping around. So he had to engineer a pair of pants that would stretch."

It's hard for Neil to believe this goofy idiot is the person he's fallen in love with.

"Do you think the Hulk's dick is green, too?" Alex asks, like it's the question of the ages.

Neil snorts laughter. "I think we're giving this way too much thought."

"Can you at least try to give a real answer?"

"Well, his lips are green, right? I read somewhere that the color of someone's lips is indicative of, uh, other parts."

Neil finds himself stealing a glance at Alex's mouth, and he notices that Alex is staring at him, too.

So now that's out there.

Alex bites the inside of his lip and says, "I wanna see it."

"I don't think Marvel is gonna show you the—"

"No, idiot. Yours."

Neil turns the color of a tomato. He can't be certain, but his face feels like it's on fire, so it's a safe bet he's redder than he ought to be.

Alex's hand glides over Neil's sweatpants-clad thigh. Excitement crackles through Neil's veins. "You said I had to be sober, and I am. I won't do anything you don't want me to."

Neil wants him to do everything and nothing all at once. He's never been with a man before, and even though he's familiar with his own equipment, the idea of touching someone else's is mildly terrifying. What if he does something wrong? What if Alex doesn't like it?

But Alex is clearly taking a risk by being so forward, and Neil doesn't want to punish him for it. Maybe this is like his irrational fear of roller coasters, and once he gets into it he'll find there was nothing to be afraid of. This is Alex, after all.

Neil places a hand over Alex's own, his fingers gliding through the hair on his forearms. Alex leans in to kiss him, and Neil lets him. His mouth is slow and tentative, so Neil pushes into the kiss, trying to show Alex this is something he wants, that he doesn't have to be afraid. Alex's hand slides down his thigh, dangerously close to Neil's crotch. Neil gasps a tiny breath, and Alex grins, breaking the kiss.

"You don't look like you'd be shy," Alex says. His breath is hot and sweet.

"I'm not."

"You're blushing."

"Did you forget where your hand is?"

Alex removes his hand from Neil's thigh and places it over the swell of his erection. Neil hears himself make an embarrassing little whimper he hopes Alex will just ignore. But Alex seems to be finely tuned to Neil's responses. He smiles in a self-deprecating way. "Is that a good noise? C'mon, I'm going out on a limb here."

Alex's touch has robbed Neil's brain of most intelligent thought, so he's forgotten that Alex is taking a huge step out of his comfort zone by making a move while sober.

_Don't shrink away and let him disappear into a bottle again. Don't be such a fucking coward._

"It's very good." Neil twines his fingers with Alex's own and slides off the couch, guiding him to the bedroom before he can worry about it. He has to shoo Spats off the bed, and once the cat scampers underneath the bed, Alex lies down on the mattress. He turns his head as though trying to spot the cat.

"Hey, fluffy man, your dad doesn't get laid very often, huh? Don't worry," Alex says, still talking to Spats. "He's not hurting me. We're just playing in a grown-up way."

Neil settles over Alex, frowning at him. "Do you really think it's a smart idea to make fun of me before we have sex?"

"You love my teasing."

Yeah, Neil's not really in the best position to argue that.

"And I didn't say you were bad at sex." Alex throws his arms out across the mattress like he's making a snow angel. "How would I know, right?"

Alex needs to know that Neil is awesome at sex. And by 'awesome' he means none of his sexual partners have ever complained about his technique. Alex seems to like Neil enough that he won't complain either. This will be okay. Even if it's a disaster, Alex will probably be able to laugh about it and put him at ease.

Neil captures Alex's smirky mouth with his own, pushes a hand underneath his t-shirt to feel his warm skin. Alex squirms and reaches up, getting his fingers into Neil's hair. He tugs and pulls along with the pressure of Neil's mouth, and Neil is aware of Alex undulating beneath him, seeking friction.

Neil kisses the corner of Alex's lips, down the slope of his neck, suckles at the hollow of his throat. Alex makes a deep, throaty sound that makes Neil's cock twitch. His hands slide free from Neil's hair and find his back. Alex's fingertips draw paths of fire over Neil's skin even through the fabric of his t-shirt. Neil lets his hand explore, tweaks the perky bud of a nipple. He isn't sure why—his own nipples have never been very exciting—but all of his past sexual partners have been women who responded pretty well to that. Alex moans and arches into Neil's fingers.

Awesome, Alex is into this. Neil really needs to stop using words like 'awesome'—even in his own head—while he's having sex. He's no longer the sixteen-year-old boy excited and nervous to see a glimpse of a real breast.

Neil moves to tug Alex's shirt up, but Alex stops him with his hands. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Do you have an embarrassing tattoo?"

"No, I'm just really fat."

Neil has to laugh at Alex's bluntness. He doubts Alex will be reassured in the same ways a female partner would, but that doesn't stop him from trying. "I still want you. I think you're perfect."

"Take me, I'm yours," Alex says with a sardonic smirk at the corner of his lips. "You get naked first."

Neil thinks that's fair. He sits up, pulls his shirt over his head, discards it somewhere on the floor. Alex runs a hand over Neil's stomach, making him shiver.

"God, you're ripped," Alex says, sounding a little disgusted by Neil's athletic physique.

Neil huffs a chuckle. "Not the word I'd use."

Alex bites his lip and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Neil's sweats. Neil helps pull them down and off. The air nips at his bare legs. Alex looks at him, taking it all in, then brushes his fingers over Neil's erection, which is tenting awkwardly in his boxer-briefs. Neil takes a breath, holds it, lets it out. He wants to push his hips into Alex's hand, but he knows that would only end in a quick handjob, and Alex probably wants more than that.

"Okay," Alex says, throwing his arms over his head. "Do whatever you want."

"But..."

"If I take my clothes off, that thing calms down"—Alex points to Neil's dick—"and everybody's happy."

Neil is stricken with indecision, so Alex decides for him, pulling off his t-shirt. He wriggles out of his sweats, and then he's laid out on Neil's bed in his boxer shorts, soft and pudgy and beautiful.

"It's not calming down," Neil says.

"Then you'd better hurry."

Neil imagined his first time with Alex would unfold differently, with lots of kissing and teasing and touching before any sort of penetration, but of course his easily excitable cock would betray him in this crucial moment. Though it's got to be a huge ego boost for Alex that Neil's unbearably hard at the sight of his (almost) naked body.

Neil fumbles through the nightstand for the necessary, uh, peripherals. Alex waits for him, rubs his hands along Neil's arms when he returns. He pushes his hands into Neil's briefs, tugs them down his thighs. He licks his lower lip at the sight of Neil's cock, and, wow, that's never happened to him before. His erection grows, and Neil doesn't know how he'll manage getting the condom on without blowing his load. This is ridiculous. Has it really been that long since he's had sex that even someone _looking_ at his dick gets him going?

Alex helps him with the condom, which ends up not being helpful at all, since Neil's hips twitch and twist at Alex's touch. He's not going to last very long. He strips Alex of his boxers and gets a good look at his cock. Alex is hard already, leaking precum onto his belly, and the sight of it knots Neil's insides into a confusing, arousing pretzel. He pushes Alex's thighs apart (making a mental note to bury his face between them at some point) and teases two lube-slicked fingers at Alex's hole.

Alex writhes and makes a delicious sound, his hips lifting off the mattress.

"Tell me when you're close," Neil murmurs, and Alex pushes into his hand with a noise Neil definitely wants to hear again. He pokes and prods, trying different techniques to see how Alex responds. Alex grips Neil's arms, his nails raking over his skin, rocks his hips into the slow stroke of Neil's fingers.

"Please," Alex begs, his legs sliding over the sheets before hooking around Neil's hips.

Fuck it, Neil's going in. If he comes after two thrusts, Alex will probably joke about it and follow shortly and think no differently of him.

Alex is hot and tight inside, and he opens easily around Neil like he's been waiting for ages. He makes the sexiest noise Neil has ever heard, presses his heels against Neil's ass to push him deeper. Neil hears himself grunt as he slides in to the hilt. They're both shaking, waiting for the other to move.

Neil wants to kiss Alex, but Alex has his face buried in the slope of his neck. He begins to move, rocking slowly into him, and Alex moans, his arms wrapping around Neil's middle as he sighs hot and foggy at Neil's ear. The sound and sensation of Alex's moans fill Neil up, and he fights the urge to just fuck him until they're both spent. Alex might appreciate some semblance of pacing here, like this isn't Neil's first time sticking his dick into someone.

Neil cups a hand around Alex's hip and squeezes as he shoves in. Alex groans a shuddery breath at Neil's ear, fingers dragging over his back. Neil snaps his hips forward at the rake of nails, and Alex makes a high-pitched whimper. Neil's going to come even if he stops thrusting, so he gets a hand around Alex's cock and strokes, hoping to accelerate his orgasm. Alex squirms and bucks into Neil's hand, into the way he's grinding into him. Neil feels the pinch of teeth at his earlobe, the hot breath of a sigh as Alex groans. He grips the headboard to steady himself, pounds into Alex as their hips move together.

Alex yelps and lets himself go, huffing and gasping his way through it, his head dropped back against the pillows. Neil is transfixed by the curl of Alex's upper lip as he comes, and his own orgasm takes him by surprise like a left hook. He's dazed, lost in the weightless freefall, and their hips clash desperately until they can't anymore, and Neil is shuddering between Alex's thighs, shaken to the core.

Alex purrs contentedly, his eyes closed in bliss as his chest heaves. Neil settles on top of him and kisses the irresistible curve of his mouth, since that's something he can do now. Alex smiles, his lips parting for Neil's tongue as his fingers weave through Neil's sweat-damp hair.

"How come you don't get laid more?" Alex asks while he catches his breath. "You're awesome."

"Maybe 'cause I'm the Picasso of loneliness," Neil says, recalling one of many pithy observations Alex has made about him.

Alex snickers, and Neil steals a kiss. "I was teasing. God, don't you know when someone's flirting with you?"

"That was flirting?"

"Well, I'm not great at it. You're intimidating. I got nervous."

Neil blinks, staring at Alex's perfect face. "I'm the least intimidating person in the world."

"Bullshit. You're smart and successful and so fucking serious all the time. Do you know how scary that is to me? Part of the reason I drank so much around you was 'cause I needed to not feel like the world's biggest idiot if I said the wrong thing. And you rarely smile, so that's not helpful at all."

"I thought you said I smiled too much."

"Too much to be a Terminator. You're still well under the 'normal human' smile threshold."

Neil huffs a laugh and shakes his head. "Ridiculous."

"Oh, there's one!" Alex grins, his legs stretching out. Neil kisses along the line of Alex's jaw, and Alex hums a happy noise, tilting his head to allow Neil access to the side of his face. "Hey, you're not gonna put this in the book, are you?"

"You don't want the world knowing you're great in bed?" Neil murmurs at Alex's ear, making him shiver.

"They might wonder how you know. And just great?"

Neil pulls back, gives him a skeptical look. "All you did was lie there." He cracks a smile to let Alex know he's teasing.

"Aww, your jokes are like a baby bird flopping its way out of the nest."

Neil kisses Alex's chin, rests his head on his chest. Alex sighs happily and wraps his legs around Neil's waist. They lie there for a while, listening to the soft sounds of each other's breath.

"Seriously though," Alex says, "don't put this in the book."


	8. Chapter 8

Neil's projected timespan of three weeks to finish the book metastasizes into three months. Most of this is due to his habit of shirking work in favor of spending time with Alex. Now that Neil's allowed to kiss and touch and put his hands (and other parts) on Alex, it's all he wants to do. And Alex certainly doesn't seem to have a problem with it, if the frequency of his orgasms is any indication.

So that's been taking up most of Neil's time. And energy.

Beyond their bedroom (and kitchen and living room and once on the balcony) adventures, they go on a lot of dates. Alex talks about his childhood (occasionally revealing some of the more unpleasant details in small flashes, like puzzle pieces Neil puts together in his head), about his life after the success of his inventions, and about the inventions themselves. These conversations give Neil plenty of material for the book, so he writes the trips off as a business expense.

They don't go out to dinner, since Alex is adamant about cooking their meals as a way of developing recipes for his own book. But Neil becomes finely tuned to Alex's frequencies and takes him places he'll like: arcades, record stores, eclectic museums, comic shops. Occasionally they'll walk around the mall at twilight until closing, soaking in the dreamy ambience of fluorescent lights, the smell of new clothes, and the soft jazz music echoing off the bright, white walls. Sometimes people recognize Alex. Sometimes they don't. He seems ambivalent regarding how to feel about this.

"I never liked being swarmed," he once told Neil while they sat inside the food court at night, watching the crowds thin out. "It makes me feel claustrophobic, and sometimes being the center of attention makes me uneasy. But I miss being relevant and appreciated, y'know?"

Neil nodded. The worry on Alex's face was palpable, and he wanted to reach up and smooth it off his brow. "Well, I think at least one of our books will bring you back."

"I hope it's yours," Alex said. "I mean, I want mine to do well too, but you deserve it more."

Neil never heard a more ridiculous statement in his life, which, considering the things that leave Alex's mouth on a daily basis, is saying a lot. "Why me?"

"'Cause I've already had my fifteen minutes. You haven't."

"I don't want them, remember?"

"That's bullshit. Everyone wants their chance in the spotlight."

"I'm uncomfortable with adoration."

Alex cocked an eyebrow as if to say, 'Really?' Because Alex adores him quite often, and Neil sure as hell isn't uncomfortable with that.

"Well, public adoration. The adoration of strangers. Because it's one-sided. They think they know you because of your work, but you don't even know their name."

Alex sat back in his chair, the uneven metal legs rocking a bit as he moved. "Marilyn Monroe said something that summed up fame really well. 'It's something I experience, but it's not where I live.' Sorta paraphrased, but whatever."

Neil smiled. Alex wasn't the type to habitually quote from other sources, or use words like 'paraphrase' correctly in a sentence, so those must have been things he picked up from Neil, as though trying to impress him by appealing to his intellect. Like Alex wasn't already appealing enough.

"I think we should split the credit," Alex said, gazing intently at Neil with eager blue eyes. A man could lose himself in eyes like that, and Neil thought he already had.

Neil's stunned silence provoked Alex into offering more words. "Or at least a little 'as told to Neil Peart' thing on the cover. Something to acknowledge the hard work you're doing."

Neil's first instinct was to deny this gesture of goodwill, but why? Alex just wanted to do something nice for him, to show his gratitude and appreciation. "I think we may have to renegotiate."

"Don't worry, you're still getting paid," Alex said with a grin. "But we should split the profits. It doesn't seem fair for me to get everything when you're doing all the work."

"This gracious spirit of generosity might have something to do with why you went broke."

"Speaking of fairness." Alex laughed. "Just think about it, okay?"

So Neil did.

* * *

After Neil finished the first draft, they laid in bed together, with Neil kissing the slope of Alex's neck, fondling his soft cock through his sweatpants, trying to get him going. But Alex was generally unresponsive. He'd slide a hand through Neil's hair or curl his fingers around his arm, but his heart wasn't in it, and Neil could tell.

Neil pulled back, trying to read Alex's pensive expression in the dim light of the bedroom. "What's wrong?"

Alex shrugs his shoulders, the fingers of his left hand playing with the hair on Neil's forearm. "Well, I read the book."

Fear clutches in Neil's chest. "And you don't like it?" He'd presented the loose-leaf first draft for Alex to read two days ago. Neil didn't like to press, so he hadn't badgered Alex with questions about what he thought of it. So this was the first he'd heard of Alex completing his read-through.

"I don't like _me_."

This revelation stunned Neil, because he couldn't imagine anyone not liking Alex.

Alex didn't meet his eyes, kept his head turned toward the window. "I know we said warts and all, but it feels like it's just warts."

Neil shifted, moving so he could settle into the space beside Alex. "Did Spats eat some of the pages? I think you missed the parts where I talked about your generosity and open-hearted appreciation of the world around you."

"I know, but I don't think that redeems me."

Neil sighed. "You can't keep blaming yourself. You were a teenager."

"It's not just that. Reading your book showed me how _pathetic_ I've been since I went broke. Even now I'm still leeching off you."

"Leeching? We're dating."

"What if we weren't?" Alex turned his head to look at him. "Would you still be so cool about letting me live here?"

"Maybe after the book is done, I would have urged you out of the nest."

"And I probably would have known that and found ways to keep the book from being finished."

Neil didn't think that was true. Even in Alex's moments of desperation, he seemed like he didn't want to take advantage of anyone's goodwill too often or too long. "Well, you don't have to worry about that, because I like having you here. And Spats likes you. As far as we're concerned, this is your home too."

Alex's brow was still knit, like he wasn't convinced. Neil had hoped reading the book, even just the first draft, would help Alex see his own innate goodness.

Alex sighed and stared at the ceiling. "No one's gonna like me after they read that book."

"What about Geddy? If I let him read it and he likes it, will that change your mind?"

Alex didn't answer, distress etched on his face.

"I wrote the book trying to get the reader to see you the way I do." Neil curled an arm around Alex, hoping to infuse him with warmth and love, remind him that he was still wanted. "You're a good person. You're kind and giving and you don't like to hurt people. If you do, it stays with you. It never leaves. You make everyone you meet feel good about themselves."

And just like that, an idea popped into Neil's mind, and he was amazed he hadn't thought of it before.

* * *

For the second draft, Neil enlisted Geddy's help by having him read the first and then asking for a favor.

"You want me to write a foreword?" Geddy asked, his small eyes wide and incredulous.

They sat inside an upscale sushi bar in the heart of the city. Geddy used his fingers to pick up the rolls, while Neil looked the picture of sophistication by using chopsticks.

"You're the only one who knows Alex well enough for it to be sincere and honest," Neil said.

"I haven't really spoken to him much since high school."

"But you were his closest friend. You went with him to his mother's funeral. I know you would have done more to support him, but he withdrew from everyone."

"That shouldn't have stopped me," Geddy said with a tiny sigh. "I could have tracked him down, but I didn't. I gave him space at first, then too much time passed, and it felt like such a large chasm to bridge. Part of me was afraid he'd throw me out of his life for not finding him sooner. So I stayed away, and the gap got bigger."

"You two are more alike than you realize."

Geddy gave him a weak smile.

"I could tell Alex how great he is all day, but he wouldn't believe me. If it comes from you, he might listen."

"Why won't he listen to you?"

Neil didn't know how to approach that one. Would Alex have wanted him to tell Geddy about their relationship? "He thinks I'm biased."

"Because you're writing the book?"

No way around this one, it seemed. "Because we're together. In a couple-y sort of way."

Geddy dropped the roll he was holding, and it landed on the plate with a disappointing splat. "No. Really?"

Neil wasn't sure how to read Geddy's reaction. "Is that... a problem?"

Geddy shook his head. "I just didn't know you were..." He abandoned that sentence before it could do any harm.

"You don't seem surprised about him."

"I suspected it," Geddy said with a shrug. "Well, my mother did. She told me she thought Alex might have had a crush on me, and said if I was gonna turn him down I had to be nice and not make him feel bad about it. But he never said anything." Geddy sounded disappointed, like he would have wanted Alex to confess his feelings. It probably would have been nice for an awkward teenage boy to hear someone liked him, even if he couldn't reciprocate the affection.

Geddy looked at Neil, as though seeing him in an entirely new light. "So you and Alex? How did that happen?"

"I'm still not sure." Neil laughed. "I don't know what he could possibly see in me. I would've thought he'd prefer someone more like him."

"You'd be surprised. Nancy is kind of like Alex: energetic, optimistic, blonde. But she still married me, who's the total opposite of those things."

"There's a conversation to be had about you marrying what some might say is a female version of Alex."

Geddy made a pouty face, like Neil hit a sore spot. "Maybe you're not so different from him."

Neil snagged a piece of sushi. "Will you write the foreword? It would mean a lot to me. And Alex especially." Because Alex needed to know how much he was loved and appreciated by his friends. He needed to see this book not as something that would turn people away from him, but rather as an avenue for them to understand him on a deeper level.

Geddy nodded and said, "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

One month after the second draft, the book is completed.

This, of course, calls for celebration, and Alex takes it upon himself to prepare a celebratory meal of hearty soup, breadsticks, and a decadent rum cake for dessert. They've invited Geddy over to join them, and while they wait Neil has Alex up against the kitchen cupboard, one knee pushed between his legs as they mouth and paw at each other.

Alex giggles through their kisses, his hands tugging at the front of Neil's shirt. Neil loves the way Alex ruts into his thigh, the needy little noises he makes when he's being teased. Alex tips his head back, allowing Neil access to his throat. Neil suckles kisses over Alex's neck, his hands wrapping around his hips, and Alex sighs, "I love you," into the space between them.

Neil momentarily freezes, pinned underneath the weight of the words. Alex notices his hesitation.

"Have I not said that already? I feel like I've said it before."

Neil shakes his head, feeling dazed, like a boxer who's taken too many punches.

"Well, I've thought it. A lot," Alex says, trying to fill the sudden silence. "That freaks you out, doesn't it?"

Neil thinks he ought to be honest. "Yeah, kind of."

Alex's nervous smile wilts.

"But in a good way." Neil pushes his hands underneath Alex's t-shirt, rubbing his sides, trying to console him. "People tend to throw those words around a lot, but, regardless of their frequency, I take them seriously."

Alex is probably thinking it'll take years for Neil to say those words back.

"So if someone says that to me," Neil continues, "I believe it. And when you don't take that kind of thing lightly, it means a lot. It's intense. Kind of scary. But a good scary, like a roller coaster."

Alex grins, and the sight of that same angelic smile Neil fell in love with almost immediately compels him to say it back. "I love you too."

Alex's mouth quivers, his cheeks flushing pink. "Shut up. No, you don't."

"I don't say it if I don't mean it," Neil reminds him.

Alex studies his face for a moment, searching for insincerity and coming up short, and he kisses Neil's lips, sinking lower until he can reward Neil for his honesty. Neil hums and sighs and shakes under the wet heat of Alex's mouth.

Geddy arrives five minutes later when Neil is flushed and still dazed from his orgasm. If Geddy notices this, he doesn't mention it, but most of his attention is focused on Alex anyway. He greets Alex with a hug the other man reciprocates ten-fold.

"Ow, my ribs," Geddy squeaks.

"Sorry," Alex chuckles, releasing him. "It's been a while. I got excited."

"Sound familiar, Neil?" Geddy asks with a wry smirk.

Alex gasps. "Is that a dirty joke from Geddy? Now it's really a party!" He guides Geddy to the dining table where the food has been neatly laid out. Spats has claimed a chair for himself, and he sniffs at the air, trying to pinpoint where all the delicious smells are coming from.

"Hey, big guy, I fed you already." Alex gently tips Spat's chair, enough to urge the cat onto the floor. "I know this is your chair, but when we have guests you gotta move."

"He has an actual designated chair?" Geddy wonders as Alex and Neil take their seats.

"He likes to be involved."

As they serve themselves, Geddy says, "So I'm still not really sure why I'm here."

"'Cause we invited you. Are you going senile on us already?" Alex jokes.

"I know that, you goof. I mean... I'm just Neil's agent. I'm not very involved in the whole writing process or publication."

"You're our friend," Neil says, plucking a breadstick from the communal basket in the center of the table. "That counts for a lot. And you were involved. You wrote the foreword."

"Well, you told me to."

"Wait, what?"

Alex has read the foreword (Neil presented it to him and watched Alex's face go through a complicated string of emotions while his eyes scanned the pages), but the circumstances surrounding its conception, Neil realizes, are new to him.

"He didn't tell me what to write," Geddy reassures Alex. "He just thought I should contribute something 'cause we grew up together."

Alex looks at Neil. "You did that for me?"

"I knew he'd have only nice things to say about you," Neil says, nervous. "And since you thought the book was too negative, maybe starting it off with a positive impression of you might help..." Alex doesn't seem upset about it, but Neil can't stop his knee-jerk urge to defend the decision.

Alex shakes his head, and Neil is momentarily terrified by what this might mean. "I didn't think it was too negative. I mean, not really. I just... I didn't want that to be the way you saw me. But I know better now." The corner of Alex's mouth twitches in the hint of a smile, as though remembering Neil's earlier words.

Geddy seems charmed by their interplay. "Alex, it's a memoir, so I think Neil was going for the whole 'baring your soul' thing. People would think you're a pompous ass if you spent the whole book bragging how great you are and downplaying or leaving out the hard stuff."

"I know. I just really wanted Neil to like me." Alex blushes. Neil will never get over how goddamn innocent Alex can be, even after Neil's heard him say some of the dirtiest things in bed this side of a sleazy porn flick.

"Well, I do," Neil says, and it's not often he talks about his feelings in front of more than one person, but he'll put aside his own personal discomfort for Alex.

Alex beams and tries to hide it by looking away.

Throughout dinner, Alex catches Geddy up on his life, as though Geddy hasn't already read the summary of events in the book. But Geddy is a good friend who listens intently while Alex talks animatedly about the ups and downs of his past. Neil listens too, because he loves the soft cadence of Alex's voice and the sound of his laughter. Alex must have a hundred different laughs, and Neil thinks he's heard them all, from the way he breathes quiet giggles when Neil's kissing the inside of his thighs, to the loud guffaws he makes when Neil tells a joke that takes him off-guard.

To Neil, Alex is perfect. None of the so-called warts exposed in the book bother him; they only exemplify what a strong person Alex is to have survived all that and still maintain his positive outlook. For Neil, someone prone to more than occasional bouts of pessimism, that optimism is admirable.

"What about your book?" Geddy asks Alex over dessert. "How's that coming along?"

"I'm still putting it together. Why? Looking for a new client?"

Geddy huffs a laugh. "If you're offering... No, I was just curious. I wanna see what you come up with."

"Maybe you could come over sometime and help me try out a few recipes! Neil doesn't like sweets, so I could use a second opinion. Hey, you could bring the kids!"

"Julian would love that. Kyla, not so much, since she's not even a year old and shouldn't be eating sweets."

"Well, send the little guy over for an afternoon. We could watch him." Alex looks to Neil for confirmation or approval. "Right?"

Alex would make a good dad. That's a weird place for Neil's brain to go, but there it is.

He shakes the thought away before it spins a whole fucking web of possibilities. "I'd have to check my schedule, but we could probably find the time."

Geddy sighs in relief. "That would be a huge help for us. Dealing with a baby is hard enough, but an eight-year-old too? I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep."

"Shit, you've got free babysitters right here. What's wrong with you?" Alex playfully elbows Geddy in the side.

"You already convinced me," Geddy laughs, twisting away.

Neil watches them and smiles to himself.

"I wish I could stay longer," Geddy says around ten o'clock as he's gathering his jacket from the coat rack.

"It's okay. We're glad you came." Alex gives him another massive hug, which Geddy endures with a pained smile. "It was really great seeing you again."

"Yeah, you too." Geddy studies Alex's face for a moment. "Did you have a crush on me back when we were in school?"

Alex snorts a laugh, but he's blushing, and Neil knows that's a dead giveaway. "What?"

"My mother said you might, and I wonder if there was any truth to that."

Alex laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck. "Hey, it's all water under the bridge now..."

"So you did?" Geddy grins in amusement at Alex's pouty expression and can't seem to resist egging him on further. "Do you still..."

"Not with that haircut."

Now it's Geddy's turn to pout, and he gives Alex a gentle, friendly punch to the shoulder. "Be good to Neil, okay? He's sensitive."

"Don't I know it," Alex says with a sleazy smirk, making Geddy blush.

Neil chuckles at their banter and moves in for a one-armed hug with Geddy. "I'll call you, okay? We still have to work out the book tour and all that boring crap I delegate to you."

Geddy smiles. "I'll see you around."

When Geddy leaves, Alex casually tugs Neil closer by his t-shirt, getting him right up close. He tips his head to meet Neil's eyes, and there's something heady about being looked at this way. "I hope you don't mind about the babysitting thing," Alex says, a soft curve to his lips. "I just thought it'd be fun, and something nice we could do for Geddy."

"It's fine," Neil says, and he means it. "Is there any reason you wanted to have this conversation so close?"

"I know it makes you more willing to agree with me." Alex grins; Neil can't help but kiss it off his mouth. Alex hums around their lips. "See?"

Neil kisses him harder, more insistent this time as he backs Alex against the wall of the tiny foyer. Alex nips at Neil's bottom lip, his hands pulling at the front of his jeans.

"Wait, wait," Neil breathes out, because there's something he wants to say before Alex rocks his fucking world and all the words leave his head like his brain has a leak.

"You started it," Alex huffs, amused, but he drops his hands away and waits.

Neil licks his lips, still intoxicated by the taste of him. "I wanted to—About the book..."

Alex watches him with intrigue, as though pleased by his effect on Neil, that he can turn a usually eloquent man into a stammering mess.

"I thought about what you said, and I want to split the credit with you."

A brilliant smile cuts across Alex's face. "Yeah?"

"I mean, we did it together—"

"Lots of times!"

Neil laughs despite himself. That's what he gets for choosing words Alex can easily twist into innuendo. "So if you want my name on the book, then you'll get it."

"What changed your mind? There had to be something."

Neil shrugs. "It's important to you. I wanna make you happy. And maybe I'll get more work by having my name out there, so it's not a bad deal."

"But you won't be too busy, right?" Alex tugs at Neil's jeans again, fingers hooked in his belt loops.

"I hope not." Neil sees where Alex is going with this. "We should take advantage of the time we have."

He's not even finished with that sentence before Alex is pulling him in the direction of the bedroom.


End file.
